Michael is away for the weekend, and the hour that I seem to miss him the most on his weekends away is the early saturday morning hour-when we are not having to scurry out of the bed to start our day, but can lounge just that little bit longer (and I say little bit because our little trifecta only tolerates the lounging for brief moments).
But, this morning at 6:15 am, I heard the soft creek of our bedroom door call to me as tiny little dancer foosteps delicately climbed over the foot our bed. Our firstborn, the one who from day one has been on her own time-table, our beautiful sweet early-bird, this baby girl who when she was being formed in me sat at the highest possible point, a tiny ball being knit together as close to my heart as possible, this brown-eyed wonder who is wise beyond her years and has patiently waited on me, somehow understanding and accepting my mistakes, teaching me just as much as I could ever teach her, the one who made me a mommy, who shook me to my core. As she softly crawls up the bed and almost silently slips under the covers, our two bodies stretch next two one another and as she grabs my hand and I delicately interlace our fingers, I look over at that perfect button nose and wispy angel hair and just drink her in, all of her.
In the next few moments, I hear the loud creeking of the boys' old bedroom door, the baby trying his absolute hardest to figure out this whole doorknob concept in his usual, but charming bull-in-a-china shop way. I then hear his older brother come to the rescue, and in his usual way, turn the knob, jet down the hall, and bound over our bed in three seconds flat with the noise of not-yet-completely-sturdy, heavy-footed running coming down the hall after him. I look over to see red curls stretching arms as high as they can possibly go with that look of "get me, get me, get me, get me, GET ME" and I reach down for my youngest, my youngest with his beautiful red curls, my youngest that I have so delighted in, holding on to every last precious moment of babyhood, this one who completed the missing piece of our family, this one who not only grabbed hold of me aggresively as a baby, but who also grabbed hold of my heart hard as well. As I lift him into our bed and I lie back instictively grabbing my girl's hand again, red curls, in his koala-bear manner, throws one leg over my chest and lies down, wrapping himself around me, our chests and hearts beating next to one another, those soft red curls brushing my chin.
And, finally, our middlest (as he calls himself) finds his special spot in this interwoven web of love. My beautiful blue-eyed boy, my passionate boy with the eyes that are a lifeline all the way to his soul, my effervescent joy, this boy who is so much like his daddy, this boy who has showed me a whole other side of the man I love for so often he gives me momentary glimpses of Michael as a child, this boy with the wide open heart who loves bravely, calms and stills his body just long enough to curl beside me and place his head on my womb, the very place where all of these beautiful, God-breathed creations began, these perfect unions of Michael and I, each unique from the other and each divinely-inspired, and for the brief moment before the wrestling, bouncing, tumbling, "keep your hands to yourself" of our day begins, I soak all of them in to the full, wishing this moment would last forever, but knowing its brevity is what makes it that much sweeter, and my heart is so full that my chest physically hurts.
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