One would think life with a newborn would be separated in nice little blocks of time. Time to nurse the baby, and really at the most, it can surely take no longer then an hour. But instead two hours somehow slipped under the door and disappeared into the woods never to return. I chased it for awhile but finally gave up in despair only to discover yet another hour had slipped off in my absence.
I rock and rock and rock my baby. I push her hair back over her forehead and gently touch her delicate little ears. She stares up at me while she is nursing, and her eyes are so big and so dark and so knowing that I catch my breath.
My house is messy and my children are happy. Well, mostly happy. Sometimes they miss me, as I rock, and nurse and yawn.
Somehow as my life is spent rocking, my oldest has become a half grown up sprout wearing size 14 jeans, and gloating as he continues to rise closer and closer to my own height.
I stayed up the other night, late into the night.
Yes it's true.
I craved the feeling of soft fibers between my fingers, the magic of an age old art spinning out from under my hands. Now I have a tiny sweater half made. I can't wait to put on my littlest person next winter.
Little people surround me, they make me laugh, they hug me. I am somehow their favorite mother and I do not understand how it happened when I can see so many of my own flaws. It is however, in the living, the reaching out with both hands and wrestling life into a full stop, refusing to allow a single more day go by without laughter and that one fun thing. It's in asking forgiveness and assuring them that mama and daddy are not perfect and will make mistakes too. It's in sometimes overlooking the dust and the piles of unironed shirts, it's in soft buttery sandwiches and tall glasses of chocolate milk. Life, however flawed is extra good in a big family.