Carpe Diem

  Every night I put my little ones to bed and wonder if today was my last day with just them. If it is Katharina's last day as our only girl. If Sebastian will be outnumbered come morning.  I wonder if its my last night putting them to bed as a mama of two. 

It's bittersweet to think of. 

I sometimes wonder how I will have enough love. How can I even be any fuller? My heart bursts daily with love and happiness, how could one more fit?

But they always do. I have seen this grace consistently in my life.  Too soon you think you can't change, can't deal, can't go any further, then suddenly you need it-- the love, the patience, the strength-- and it's there, when only a moment ago it wasn't.

He works that way; so often slower than we think He needs to. Because we are so sure He doesn't know what He is doing and we could really take care of things better ourselves, couldn't we?

I was at a visit with my midwife this morning, and on my way out I noted how it is easier to believe in all-things-natural when you're not quite so near the end. And my word choice made me think this was applicable to other aspects of life as well. I have found my faith to be that way. It's easy to hold on when the sailing's smooth. It's easy to preach it, to live it, to believe it. But what do I do when it's hard? When knees are under my ribcage? When I wear thin and doubt that I can go further? Is it like the hands to the sky, the labour pains moaning the child's eviction notice?

You must think by now I am at my wits end with this pregnancy. But hardly. I am still comfortable, and incredibly grateful. I'm trying to slow life down, and savour time as a family of four, ever-mindful it could change any moment. All too soon, their hands will look giant, their steps will be longer, their faces-- rounder.

They pretty much grow up more and more overnight anyway. Every morning their feet look longer, their voices sound matured, and we wonder where in the world did you learn that?

Motherhood is such a joy, but the time passes so quickly. And my am I thankful, that with every sunrise are new mercies and new beginnings.

Carpe Diem. It's a new one. Seize it.

Sometimes it's tiring, sometimes-- chaotic. Let me tell you, we know chaos over here. But really, let it be beautiful. I don't always. Hardly. But with such undeserving gifts,  I do try to catch myself and wonder, why not?

The four of us snuggle together in our big bed every morning and my heart swells. My husband- the greatest man, faithful husband and tender father; and next to him- our daughter, next to her- our son. And there’s me. Belly bulging, another little treasure within days of joining us. And I choke back tears and kiss each one of them.  Undeserving.

 While I make breakfast, every lower cupboard in the kitchen is emptied. While we eat, half of the slimy banana pieces fall to the floor. Little Girl’s oatmeal-covered hands reach over and grab her brother’s face. Little Man continually calls out for his ball, frantic it may have disappeared overnight.

Their sweet, tiny hands wave goodbye as their Papa leaves for the day. They watch from their bedroom window as he walks all the way down our street and out of sight, their hands still waving. And I tell them Papa’s gone to study and work, all for us, because he loves us so much.

Tidy up the bathroom. 4 seconds into the job, “Uh-oh! Ma!” I turn around to fish a tiny blue toothbrush out of the toilet.

As a mother I’ve developed a new appreciation for nap time, and my routine for nap time is about to change. I do realise that. But right now, it’s my time to fix my bobby pins and straighten my pants and wipe the banana stickiness off the floor. I slow down, steep a tea bag, read a Proverb. It’s a time to refresh and regroup, so I can be the Mama they need when nap-time ends.

And it does end.

But it all blows past, quicker than nap-time ends. And one day my cupboards will be tidy, my towels will be neatly folded, there will be no audience while I shower. The shoes will always be where they belong, and toothbrushes will never need fished. No baby board books dropped in the hallway or broccoli florets under the table legs.

This tells me smiles were shared, bellies were filled. That they were busy; that we’ve made memories. That they’re happy, and that my tasks are not meaningless. That every single moment is important. Absolutely every one. 

That's a hard truth to grasp, in the midst of the daily hustle and bustle-- that the moments mean more than we take time to notice.  My life moves fast; we're fast-paced and busy. It poses challenges, like pausing to cherish the little moments, and even the big sometimes. Like realising with the completion of every moment, I'll never, ever, have that one back. How was it spent?

I confess I've cringed and fought thoughts of how it would be faster, easier, to pick up the veggies and refold the towels myself. I daily battle the urge to fold laundry during naps, just so it can be done in a fraction of the time. And not very long ago, for once, I remembered I was pregnant. I was feeling  pregnant, and black was not a slimming colour.  I wanted my feet propped, I wanted to close my eyes, I wanted to relax, and both naps seemed an hour too short.

You know what I did? I turned on Walle. Walle. For my 1-year-olds. I know what you're thinking. I'm a great Mom.

For 3 minutes they sat and watched the computer-generated image squeak and roll around on the screen. Then they were by my side, Sebastian with a block in each hand, wanting to build a tower in my palm. Katharina had stood up and needed arms stretched out, cheering her on while she toddled across the living room.

And so I rubbed my eyes and rolled off the couch. And I had to refocus, because I know I believe it: don't even blink. Live it.

I’ll miss picking up peas off the kitchen floor, I’ll miss diapers. I’ll long for tiny hands to pull at my legs, to beat against my hardwood floors. I’ll wish laundry took three times as long because baby hands wanted to help load each and every item into the washing machine. I’ll wish grocery shopping wasn’t such a quick trip. I’ll miss tiny voices calling for me each morning. I’ll miss scrunched-up noses and new-tooth grins. 

 One day, my home will be empty. And that time will come so much faster than I can even believe. And with the quiet and the emptiness, the days of toothbrushes in the toilet and keys in the trash, little ones sitting on their knees, watching and waiting while I shower-- gone.  

And what if this is it? What if today is my last? My last day to roar and chase to the pitter patter of little tiger paws across the hardwood? My last to kiss rosy cheeks and tiny feet, to swaddle them tight and read their favourite stories?  This always gets me, and during our time at night, I replay my day to my husband. How have I loved them? How have I nurtured them, directed them, instructed them? Am I purposing to live worthy of this high calling? (And it is a high one, Mamas. We should feel honoured).

I have to live life, to love fully, to trust that with every hurdle and storm, there is sufficient grace to conquer. To find the lesson and the beauty in every moment-- because I am sure it’s there-- and drink it whole. And just to smile as I mop the shampoo off the bathroom tile, because chances are it needed washed anyway.

Carpe Diem.