You’re Gonna Miss This

I may not miss the 3 a.m. wake up calls
startling awake, convincing my aching bones to move
rocking until the weight of your sleeping body finally gives in
and I can sneak back to the warm recesses of my bed.
Milk stains the front of my nightgown,
but I’m too tired to care.
One day you’ll sleep all night
and I’ll wake rested and refreshed, thanking God for the end of this sleepless season.

But it’s okay if that’s not tonight.

Because even though Mama’s bones are tired,
I secretly love our midnight dates,
praying the sacred prayers of a mama’s heart over you while we rock.
The house is silent. Your warm head fits perfectly into the crook of my arm
and I know that the day will come too soon
when it no longer will.

So we rock because I know I’m going to miss this.

I go out for a long awaited night out with friends who I’ve missed so much.
For nine beautiful months, I took you everywhere I went
and since brining you Earthside, you’ve relied on me to meet your every need.
Being away from you for the first time feels liberating.
But then my breasts become heavy and achy
and my arms long to hold you against me.
I feel frustrated at this primal reminder that my body is your nourishment.
I long for seasons past when I did not live by a clock.

But as I scoop you into my arms and nestle you against my chest,
we both feel the relief, like coming home
and I know that the day will come too soon
when you’ll no longer need me in such a raw and consuming way.

So we nurse because I know I’m going to miss this.

I wanna help make supper! you squeal as you grab your stool.
It’s late and I’m starving and the last thing I have is patience for little fingers and rice spilled all over the floor.
You sit in the floor and chop a mushroom with a butter knife.
I stop and I watch you.
They warned me it would go so fast.
They told me not to blink.
Suddenly, you’re this incredibly witty, empathetic, curious, creative little girl
and I marvel that despite all my shortcomings and
all of the moments when I let my frustrations get the best of me,
you’re the perfect illustration of God’s love and grace.

You challenge me in unimaginable ways
always asking why
making unreasonable and illogical demands
about which cup you drink out of or what song we listen to or which book we read.
You’re never in a hurry
and you don’t care what people think as you break dance in the lobby at the bank.
Sometimes I count the minutes until bedtime.

But then you place your tiny hand inside of mine
and I remember the privilege.
The privilege of getting to make pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse
and having dance parties in the kitchen.
The privilege of slowing down.
One day you won’t need my hand to cross the street or to tie your shoe.

So I hold on tight because I know, I’m going to miss this.

The seasons are fleeting,
childhood is but a glimpse.
Open your eyes,
Breathe them in
Memorize the shape of their body as they sleep against your chest.
Allow them to change you.
We think we have so much to teach them,
but they have so much more to teach us.
Listen.
Be present.
Don’t blink.

You’re gonna miss this.