I was exhausted, but happy. I wore the babe in my arms like a badge of honor. I’d made it through a little over three months of motherhood with a colicky little boy.
The doctor said he’d show some improvement at about three months, and that he had. He cried less, smiled more, relaxed a bit. I still worried inside that he’d never be a truly happy child. (Silly me!)
We sat in Steak and Ale enjoying a Mother’s Day Lunch. He slept, he fidgeted, he woke, he fussed – and I held him. One arm full of sweet baby boy and a fork in the other, balancing motherhood with sustenance.
Dad offered to hold him, to calm him, to give me a break. But I worried that he’d fuss; I said, “No, he’s fine.” I think I felt I held the magic, that only I could soothe him. Dad wasn’t with him every day, all day. He didn’t know all the little tricks I knew.
After all, I was Mom; I was supposed to know how to calm and soothe my son. It rested on me, didn’t it?
I can still close my eyes and see that day, that room, that sweet babe. Feel the weight of him in my arms, the ache between the shoulders that holding him so long brought. Even now, a knot rises to my throat as I think of his sweet baby scent and those clear, bright eyes, the precious smile he bestowed more every day.
The lessons? They took years of boys to learn. Perhaps I knew them with my head at the time, but my mom heart was so overpowering that I listened to its beat.
I held no magic other than the usual mom magic, and I wasn’t the only one who could bring peace to my child. And it didn’t all rest on me.
Their dad, first of all, was – and is – more than able to teach and guide and console. In a way, I suppose this post is a precursor to Father’s Day. Without my dear husband, what kind of mom would I be?
I look back and see the village that brought love and learning and comfort to my boys, and I’m thankful. So often in those early days, I thought it all rested on me, that I could and should control so much. I still do that at times, when I’m spending too much time looking in the mirror and not enough time looking toward the One who loves me – and them.
When I gaze on Him, my heart can rest. I’m reminded it’s not all up to me, for there’s One who loves my sons with an even greater love.
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