As the thought of another wonderful child looms, I hold him tighter. I wrestle longer. I watch harder. I try to memorize today and yesterday and the one before that. In a few short months, it will no longer be just me and him. He will have to share me. I will have to share him. My two ears will not be tuned to him in the 100% way they are now. Right now, he commands center stage. And he knows it.
Ezra spontanteously tells me that he LOOOVES ME at least 100 times a day. Pretty much any time there is a lull in the conversation. I scoop these words up and marinate in them- because like the lady at his school often reminds me- there will come a day when those words won't fall quite so easily from his lips.
That's what I'm doing these days. Marinating in the time spent with my boy. Soaking him up.
I had a friend tell me the other day that she feels like she doesn't even know her son like she used to since the new baby came along. Because they no longer get those one-on-one moments that used to make up their entire days.
The thought is somewhat terrifying. What silly jokes will I miss? What songs will slip past my ears? What quiet observations will go unheard? Will I be enough mom for the one and the two? Will my fragile patience survive the blow?
There will be a lot of letting go. And I know that it will be good for all of us. Like pruning a bush to make room for new growth.
There will need to be an abundance of Grace. Mostly for myself. Grace inward. Because I need to let go of the idea that I can be all things for everyone at all times. I can't be. Even for my two children- I can't be it all. I can be me right here and now and that's about it, yes? I think that's what Grace means. Allowing yourself to be you now... not frantically trying to get to the you of tomorrow, or bogging yourself down with the you of the past... Just... You. Right now.
Grace.
There is definetly new life headed our way. And it's so easy to forget that life and death are often one-in-the-same and marching towards you hand-in hand. With this new life will come the death of the way it has been. But if we didn't prune back and change every now and again, where would we be?
Overgrown. Supressing life. Unhealthy and wild... full of old branches that do nothing but suffocate. (Like those shrubs of mine out front. Ahem.)
Pruning is painful! I can feel the shears preparing for the cut already. I'm wincing, but I'm ready. I'm ready for the growth that will come from the loss. And I trust that God is preparing Ezra in the same way He's preparing his momma... Gently. With compassion and understanding. A kind gardener at work.
