for the last time (for my son)

Two months ago, I gave birth to our sweet son. Our third and final biological child (unless God has vastly different plans for our family!) He has been such a joy to our family.

My son...my time with you so far has felt so different from that of your sisters. This time, I’m so very aware of how quickly the days slip by.  Before I know it, you’ll be raiding my fridge. The crib you sleep in bears the marks of your two wild sisters – chewed and worn down. The floorboards of your nursery have been walked many times – by myself or your daddy – slow dancing our babies to sleep. Many nights, we have shushed sleepy babes while leaning over the edge of the crib; praying all the while. For sleep. For patience. For the little lives God holds so firmly in His hands.

For the last time, my body had the honour of bringing a new life into this broken world. For the last time, I felt the indescribable mixture of joy and relief as a tiny, perfect baby was placed on my chest. The wonder and mystery of this privilege is not lost on me.  There are many days where it is easy for me to feel overwhelmed by the “bad”. But you, dear boy, are so, so GOOD. I pray that you feel the stir of God’s love in your heart as your grow. I pray that He rises up in you a deep and Holy passion for the world, and for others. When I look into your eyes, I am filled with gratitude. God, in His divine wisdom, saw fit for me to be your mama. On the days where I feel totally and completely outnumbered, I scoop you up, and revel in the way your heart seems to beat in time to mine.

For the last time, I get to experience the beautiful unveiling of someone else’s personality. I love the way you stretch your arms way above your head when you wake up. The way you ball your fists when you are nursing. The chuckles you give in your sleep. I’m head over heels in love with you, baby boy.

For the last time, I get to experience all the “firsts”. The first hard-fought, heart-stopping smile. I could sit and stare at you all day long.  It’s a wonder I get anything done around here. Here you are, only ten weeks old, and so deeply a part of who I am, already. I thank God for the wonder that you are. So, I’ll kiss your baby skin. I’ll smell your baby head. I’ll stare at your slow-fluttering tiny baby lashes. I’ll rock you a little longer.  Because, you, my son, are one of my greatest treasures.

Mama