This morning I was given the gift of sleeping in. It doesn’t matter how long, or if I even slept. What matters is that I got to stay in bed under the cozy warm blankets, on this cloudy day, and not have to do the first shift with our happy and demanding little human.
Being a mom is tough. Being a stay at home mom is tough. For me, it’s the best job in the world, but it’s the hardest job in the world. It’s long hours. Nights and weekends. Rare vacations that I long for, yet avoid because I’m just not ready to be away from my girl longer than 24 hours. It’s tantrums in the middle of our cul-de-sac because a puppy resides across the street and those footsteps could take her there. It’s a change in the amount of quality time I can have with my husband. It’s bringing up the different ways we were raised and the arguments that can come from what we think is right. It’s learning how to say no. A lot. And say sorry. A lot. And seek Jesus. Even more “a lot.”
But I love to hear those footsteps.
Each morning starts about 6:30 am when Lucy wakes in her crib. I hear fussing over the monitor. Then silence. It’s like she’s frustrated she’s up so dang early. <I hear ya kiddo> But then she realizes she’s surrounded by her baby, teddy, and baby doll #2, and Mom needs time. Thank you sweet child for giving me time to adjust to reality again, time to pretend sleep. But then she sits up and fusses until I get up.
And then the footsteps start.
She runs from her room to the kitchen. To the living room. To her bedroom. Then back and forth. One toy to the next. Then a book. Thank you Lucy for finding them enthralling. I praise God for your love for books. Someday those reading spurts will last much longer, and my knowledge will be surpassed as you flourish and thrive in your learning.
But then we move on to the requesting of her juice. Then some Cheerios. And the list of requests goes on and on. The rush of the day has begun.
And I’m thankful for those footsteps.
I prayed to hear those footsteps.
I longed for them.
And then I couldn’t wait to hear those footsteps as my ever cautious child waited to walk until 14 months.
So as much as I miss the spontaneity and freedom of life without a child. Or as much as I miss the cozy cuddly newborn mornings. I love to hear those footsteps. My own miracle consuming my life, growing my patience, strengthening my trust in God, and ultimately <challenging my sanity>. Can I get an amen friends?
There are moments where I think I just might go insane if I have to figure out another snack, find that missing baby again, or work through another random freak out for a reason I am totally unaware of.
But I love those constant, little footsteps.
And my love for those constant little footsteps fuels my soul each days as I prepare to put on my motherhood shoes.
Which brings me back to reality. I think Daniel Tiger is over, and those footsteps are getting louder, and there’s a “mama alarm” nudging me to get up and put on my motherhood shoes again.
And hug those adorable little footsteps.