“Those were the days. The nursing every two hours–even at night! The drive home from the hospital with this new life. Every car was an enemy. We drove 15 miles an hour all the way home. I sat in the backseat with him for weeks.
The latching pain, the ‘nipple-shield’ days. The crying days–him and me. The googling symptoms and taking him to the doctor because he wouldn’t stop crying days. ‘Give me Jesus’ every morning days. ‘Why are you crying, honey?’ my mom asked. ‘I’m just so tired,’ days.
Now these are the days. The messy face and messy floor days. The sticky hands on your pants days. The, ‘Mommy, mommy, mommy!’ days. Peek-a-boo and ‘Where’s the baby?’ one more time days. The car-seat struggle, the diaper change struggle, the put you in your jammies struggle. We do this everyday, come on! And I thought you would be sleeping through the night by now days. The bonked his head again days.
The sweetest hugs, kisses, smiles, and giggle days. The first words and tummy-raspberry days. Put him down for a nap and he wakes up taller days. The silent moments and ‘Oh no! What’s he doing?!’ days.
When I find my strength days.
I realize how little sleep I can survive –no thrive–on.
How my voice got louder, ‘Please don’t share your straw with him.’ And, ‘Please don’t force him to hug you.’
This is my baby and I’ll raise him my way.
My arms are strong; my back is strong.
I can smile all day to keep the mood light for my little.
These are the days of never ending cleaning.
Thank you Lord that we had healthy food as I do the dishes. And thank you that Josiah eats well. Thank you that my body is able to stand over the sink without pain.
My body is prime for these days.
When I find my own weakness and receive grace after grace.
‘Mom, can you please come over?’
‘Mom, can you please come over, again?’
‘Sorry I didn’t make dinner, babe.’
‘Am I doing this right? Should I go in there and get him? How many minutes do I let him cry?’
When I’m trying so hard to keep chipper for the baby, and I take it out on John instead.
‘It’s okay, babe,’ days.
These are the days when I miss him when he’s sleeping. When I can’t wait to get him up from his nap. His rosy cheeks and heavy-eyed ‘Mommy!’ smile.
His little jokester self, blowing on my belly and growling as he runs away, swinging only one arm. How he claps for himself and has favorite songs and parts of songs, and favorite books and pages of books.
These are the days of perspective. Of choosing to see all the good. My mom body–more feminine and efficient than before. The highlights in his hair. The sun even though it’s cold. He may be awake again, but he woke up healthy. And so did I. All the little things, the menial things, are shaping him. Keep looking him in the eyes. Keep smiling. He won’t want up, or ‘bup,’ forever.
The hard nights won’t last forever.
But neither will these little, chubby-arm days.
One day, I’ll look back on these days. The days when doing the dishes and scrubbing the floor didn’t hurt my back. The days when I had energy! The days when I was the most influential person in Josiah’s life. The days where I could hold him in my arms, and he fit just right.
‘These days were the best days of my life with you guys,’ my mom reminisces. I used to cup his head in my hand as I nursed him at night. It doesn’t fit like that anymore.”
This story was submitted to Love What Matters by Jordi Weaver. You can follow her journey on her blog, Facebook, and Instagram. Submit your own story here, and be sure to subscribe to our free email newsletter for our best stories.
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