Hard days

Yesterday I visited with one of my former attorney colleagues.  She just had her second baby and I took full advantage of her maternity leave and George’s morning at school to go and snuggle with her precious little girl.

As much as I loved the morning, it left me a little sad.  No matter how many times I think I’m over having another baby, there seems to be a wistful longing for one each and every time I see, hold, or even think about those little peanuts.  I can’t help it, I guess.  In another life I must have been a pioneer woman who had fourteen children surrounding her at all times up until she undoubtedly expired in her mid-forties from what must have been sheer exhaustion.  But, at the very least, she had those babies that I will always crave.

And crave, I do.  I dream about it at night.  I think about it during the day—maybe we could do it?  Maybe it wouldn’t be that hard?  Maybe three children aren’t that much more expensive than two?  (Even I have to laugh at that last ‘maybe’).  And just a few minutes ago as George and I were finishing lunch, my mind wandered to these same thoughts.  As if on cue, George took my hand and startled me out of my glazed-over gaze.  “Mommy, can I kiss you?”  And when I leaned over for the sweetest peck on the cheek this side of the Mississippi he said, “That’s because I love you, Mommy.”

Seriously friends, I can’t make this up.  Nor do I want to.  Frances and George are far from perfect and are no longer small enough to fit in the crook of their father’s arms.  But in an instant and without even knowing it, they can give me such perspective.  Because there will come a day, much too soon for my taste, when I will look back achingly at these very days that I am living right now.  When I will miss seeing George’s messy hair in the rearview mirror of my car as I cart him around on various boring errands.  When Frances will stop playing house with all of her fifteen doll friends and won’t leave her backpack on the floor of the mudroom.  When we will turn the playroom back into a dining room and finally be able to recover the den sofa and I will die a little inside.

Today has been hard, but tomorrow will be better.  Because tomorrow Frances is still five, George is still three, and I am the luckiest mother I know.

Happy Tuesday, everyone!