"Mommy, " she giggles, "I'm so happy."
I mean really, this is the best. What could beat that. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
Ok, maybe it was the 7up. And the sleep deprivation (2 worship services, 15 hour day). Or the ice cream. Or the fun with Mimi and Papa, Brian and Andrea and Mommy and Daddy. Whatever it was, her reflection at the end of this day was "Mommy, I'm so happy."
A thought occured to me when Sydney was 3 or 4 months old. It had to do with the ferocity of our love for our children. It's huge and desperate and if we stopped to think about it, or if we talked about it, a geyser of emotion would threaten to erupt. Protectiveness, elation, wonder, awe. But it's not a passive love or a delicate love. It's almost vicious. I was still in the throes of the emotional ups and downs post partum and was sure this thought was insane, but time has passed, I'm no longer nuts, and I still believe this to be true.
It's almost like, we roll our eyes and talk about the struggles (Oh, she was up at 4:30am, or Oh, she ate her weight in Christmas cookies, or Oh that child never stops moving!)- just so that we won't make fools of overselves weeping over the sheer joy and passion we feel for them.
Maybe I am speaking only of mothers- maybe not- but it's something I've experienced that I suspect I am not alone in.
1 comment:
You are not alone...the love IS ferocious. I know and love their smells, even the bad ones. It is a love that comes with a foundation that we fight to maintain in other relationships. It is a love that blinds us, often, from reason and causes us to jump to their defense if ever we feel the world treating them as just another kid on a you tube video. This is MY son. This is MY daughter.
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