Today is my little boy’s second birthday. Pinch me, it has gone by so utterly fast. His last two birthdays I’ve sat with tears rolling down my cheeks, but this year seems different. I know he is steadily outgrowing the “baby stage,” but, my heart doesn’t know whether to be overjoyed or deep in sorrow.
The last two years brought many moments when I longed for steps toward his independence. I’d quietly sigh in desperation, hoping my hip wouldn’t permanently ache from carrying his weight on days he’d deflect his feet from hitting the floor. I’ve often pulled the covers over my head when hearing his squawking on the monitor, signaling the start of my day after another restless night. I’ve even locked myself in the bathroom to steal quiet moments to myself in avoidance of being needed again.
But today he turns two and my heart hurts knowing how often I’ve longed to move past these “baby years.” He is quite the adventurer and drags me with each wagon ride or pulls me to the floor to vroom cars in the kitchen. Each day he learns something new; I’m mesmerized by the little person he is becoming.
I’m pretty decent at stopping to savor the moment and appreciating the good days and the bad… Most of the time. But there are days I wish I could’ve been a little more patient and a lot less anxious to wish the hard times away.
I rocked him before bed tonight and cried gentle tears as I watched him drift off to sleep. I tried memorizing each finger, toe, and eyelash, the curve of his baby nose, and the softness of his “baby skin.” I bent down close and let him breathe on my face so I could soak up his scent. I sat with the arm of the rocking chair in my back, but not daring to move away from the pain for fear and losing this precious moment. I looked at the beautiful creature (who is still half baby) and prayed the deepest thanks for receiving him as my gift two years ago. I had no idea how much he’d mean to me now, nor how much the love would grow with each passing day.
I know this upcoming year means fully moving into that “little boy” stage. He will always be my baby but not a baby. There will be a day when he doesn’t cry for me when he’s hurt or giggle infectiously when I tickle him. At some point, he will not want his buddies to see his mama kiss him goodbye; he will no longer need me to carry him down the stairs when he’s tired or scared.
And when those moments come, the last thing I want to do is regret wishing this time away. I want to know I REALLY soaked up motherhood and every memory my heart can consume. It’s moments like tonight which remind me that God is so amazingly good to us. I never deserved Griffin. Being chosen as his mommy is certainly a gift of unconditional love. How lucky am I that I have a child who has taught me more about who I am in the last two years than I ever learned in my lifetime before him?!
I often recall the moment the nurse laid him on my chest for the first time. I was forever changed.
The tiny baby who made me his mother is the same little boy vying for my undivided attention and the comfort and grace he knows only I (and Sam) can give him. He may be the toddler who throws a tantrum, but he’s still the baby I get up to rock in the middle of the night. In a single day we can both push and stretch the other, while simultaneously filling voids and offering just what the other needs: love.
Parenting is one of the most trying things I’ve ever done. It weighs heavily on me to raise a man of character who loves Jesus as intimately as God intends. It’s that heavy responsibility which harbors the occasional moments of weakness when I question my worth as a mother, or wish away the moments that reflect just how much he depends on me. But, being Griff’s mom also harbors how incredibly much God must care for me to give this opportunity for a love that is so unexplainable.
So, as I sat and rocked, I realize this era will come to an end faster than I certainly want. On my son’s second birthday I put faith in Gods ability to offer more moments similar to tonight, and the discernment for me to value just how precious they truly are.
Griffin, my birthday gift for you is a promise and a prayer: to rock a little longer, sing a little louder, have more patience and less frustration. I pray for growth as you shy away from being a baby, but also a need for me as long as God will allow. I ask God for you to always feel my love no matter how many times I fail you or lose sight of just how short, but absolutely fulfilling my time with you can be. You will always be my baby, and I’ll spend the 27th of May each year trying to memorize your every feature as they mold and change. I’ll forever be grateful that you are the one who first made me “Mommy.”
house of stain 