Yesterday N and I were “playing” piano together (aka: banging the keys and giggling like maniacs). I decided to make it educational by differentiating between the “black” keys and the “white” keys. N liked that a lot and was careful only to bang white only, or black only. And then I decided maybe I can take it a step further and teach him that each piano key is a note, and each note is assigned a letter. So we went up a scale… starting from middle C. N got confused. And asked where the “Y” note was. And where was the “X” note. And was slightly upset at my answers. So much for making it educational. We’ll try again later… =P
Mother, O Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing, make up the bed,
Sew on a button and butter the bread.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.
Oh, I’ve grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,
Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye loo.
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo
The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo
Look! Aren’t his eyes the most wonderful hue?
Lullabye, rockaby lullabye loo.
The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
But children grow up as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.
by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton; published in 1958 in the Lady’s Home Journal as “Song for a Fifth Child”
Our hearts are bursting with pride, nostalgia, wonder, and love. This past year has had it’s ups and downs, but the ups have by far surpassed the downs. I am so grateful to have embarked on this amazing and crazy journey called parenthood. It is humbling and transforming, to say the least. Life now has a million more dimensions than it ever did before.
The one year mark is just around the corner. Today is the first day of August, a year later. It has gone so quickly yet dragged on for so long. I’m sure many moms can relate to me when I say that it felt like my pregnancy was a million years ago. Looking back at newborn photos and videos felt like a million years ago. I look back at photos of myself and realize I was a different person then. It has only been a mere 11 months and so much has changed and transformed. I look back at the pregnancy videos and how I wondered what my child would look like, what his personality would be like, how he would turn out… and some of that stuff I still have yet to find out as it continues to evolve and change… but I really had no idea and I was filled with curiosity, anticipation, excitement and wonder. I was so nervous about finally meeting him! And now I look at the little kid that I have, I have no words — I am speechless and inside I well up with pride and love and tears. My cup overflows. My heart is exploding. It’s hard to describe. But when people say that they didn’t know they could love something or someone so much until they have a child — it’s all true. And that selective memory loss — I used to think it was crazy that so many people start forgetting so much of it in such a short amount of time. Not that I had the best memory to begin with, but it’s incredible to me how I can barely remember what the labor pains feel like. In fact, I have to think REALLY hard to try to grasp what the physical sensations were like. Or what it was like to have a big pregnant belly and waddle. Or even the early days of sleepless nights and crying and colic and depression and desperation — even those parts are looking fuzzy and starting to fade. Because they are being crowded out by all the heart touching memories of my baby when he first babbled, smiled, crawled to me, gave me my first kiss, my first hug, and a million other things that make me a completely melted teary mess of a mom. I am transformed in every possible beautiful way.
When they say that children are a true blessing from God, they weren’t kidding. It’s hard to understand what it means, until you are there. You can read as many books as you want, collect as much advice around you, and do a million hours of internet research, but it doesn’t mean much when you are on dry land. Only until you get in the water, then you learn how to swim on your own, because no one can do it for you.