I think of this when the moms-who-are-done-with-the-busy-stage look back and sigh, and say, “I wish I had let the housekeeping go. Just enjoy them…”
I’ve been sharing my words in other ways this month. Here are some sneaky snippets.
He was my first baby – now thirteen months old. His hair was brown, his eyes were striking, his grin was quick. I thought he was perfect.
Sometimes all your ideals fly out the window because it’s two a.m. and your baby will not settle, and you’ve already been out of bed six times, trying to shush her before she wakes her brother, but now it’s too late because he’s fussing too. And his bed is wet.
You may become an adult who knows how to draw wayward teenagers back toward love. You may become the kind-hearted grandma at church who asks to rock a colicky baby for his frazzled new mom. You may become the sort of person who walks toward difficult children instead of away from them.
My children’s virtue is a good aim. When my children’s virtue is about making me look good, I am in the wrong. From this posture I wrote, but with mixed and confusing motives. I could feel but not pinpoint them. I see there can be a heart that is proud of being broken, a heart that looks at the proud people and is so glad it is not like them.