Archives for posts with tag: Motherhood

I’ve had a recent spate of productivity. As always there is more than one contributing reason, but it’s impossible not to attribute it to one major change in my life.

I now have an office.

In my closet.

No lie.

My Office edited

That’s right. I now do most of my work tucked away between the scarves and shirts.

Jason and I have talked for awhile about my need for workspace at home to corral my work items: calendars, notebooks, computer, books, etc. I wanted to use it for my day-job, writing, and managing Nathan’s care and our home. I needed a “hat stand”, if you will, for my various hats to rest, but not be forgotten.

We had the desk, an antique I received from my parents on my eleventh birthday, but it was in the dining room and that area is not conducive to concentrated work hours. I needed a space where I could be alone, solitude being the siren call of the introvert.

We discussed buying a flip-down table form IKEA, trying to fit the antique desk in our room, and various other configurations to make it happen.

What we finally did was a big furniture shuffle along with getting rid of some pieces that were no longer serving us well. We bought a dresser for us to share that would fit in our room and then got rid of our two dressers we’d had for years. Mine was so bad we just took it to the dumpster because I didn’t feel right about donating such a broke-down piece of MDF.

My office top

My Office middle

My Office bottom

The new space in the closet fits my old desk perfectly. I loooooooove sitting in there. I get up early (also a new habit) and do my Bible study, workout, planning, writing, etc. all at that little desk. I will slowly decorate more as I get used to the space. For now I have my Authenticity Banner and a business card from Tastes Orangey that came with my birthday present last year.

It’s perfect.

These are the days. 

That’s my motto for this season.

These are the days…my son will be two.

I don’t want to get caught up in the daily grind and miss my son’s second year. These are the only days he’ll be two, two and a half, two and three quarters, and gone.

These are the days…of summer. 

I’ll never celebrate this summer again. This first Forever Family Day, this 31st birthday, Jason’s 32nd birthday. We’ll never be quite the same family again in this routine, this place. I want to celebrate being home for the night by 5:00 most days, long evenings with Jason, the time alone while Jason works, early mornings, hot weather. Summer comes back every year, but it never comes back quite the same.

These are the days…for learning how to talk, how to walk, how to play.

These are the only days filled with these particular tasks. Soon Nathan will know how to walk up stairs, and down. Soon he’ll be able to say Daddy and eat and go like a champ. Soon he’ll be dressing himself without asking for help.

These are the days…for hearing Mamamamamamamamamama. Over and Over.

I longed to be called that name for years and I don’t want to cringe so much when I hear it in abundance and in a less than lovely tone of voice. I want to rejoice that I have a boy who calls me Mama and wants my attention. I want to wear that name with honor as one of the brave ones.

These are the days…for morning and evening bottle time.

These are the days he still needs the nurture of being nourished by his Mama. Don’t rush it. He deserves every minute of Mama time he missed out on in the early days.

These are the days…for snuggling a boy who still fits in my arms. Mostly. 

Those legs are growing longer every day. They already hang over the arm of the rocking chair. I want to treasure the weight, the warmth, and the steady gaze inches from my face.

These are the days…for being able to carry him when he doesn’t want to walk.

Soon he’ll want to walk all the time. And he’ll be too big for me to carry. I want to say yes when I can.

These are the days…I am famous in his life. 

He won’t always light up and laugh when I walk in the room, follow me around just to be with me, and ask for me when I leave. Treasure his adoration and don’t take it for granted.

These are the days…for building our life.

Life doesn’t start somewhere down the road when we finally feel like we can catch our breath. Life was yesterday. It’s today. It’s now. This is Nathan’s childhood, the memories and worldview we are shaping for him that will continue on and on. I want to grab it and run with it, not let it slip away.

I don’t feel like I have adequate words to express what I want to say, which considering what it is seems strangely appropriate.

I did a lot of preparation for motherhood. I built on my natural mothering instincts, which were strong, with classes and books and an insatiable interest in what motherhood would bring. Our son’s cerebral palsy diagnosis put a different spin on these preparations and I’m not sure I was able to fully come to grips with what this new life would be like before he came home. But I soldiered on, and we all fell in love, and we’ve dug in and worked hard and been so rewarded. This has been a sweet year, beyond my imaginings in many ways.

But almost one year later, it’s beginning to be obvious which delays will be short-lived and which are probably around for the long-haul. And realizing this makes me catch my breath sometimes. And feel tired. Then I feel bad for being tired because I love my son so intensely and fiercely and it feels like a failure to admit this is so hard.

But the truth is, it’s so hard. It’s hard for all of us.

I long to have a conversation with him. A real conversation. He is a bright boy, and that’s not just coming from my say-so. His doctors and therapists marvel at him, estimating his development in almost all areas to be months to years above average. Having all those big boy thoughts and all those important memories trapped in a mind that is making it difficult to speak must be so frustrating. I know as the Mom I just wish I could fix it. I wish I knew what it was and could tackle the problem and make it go away. I’d get violent if I had to. For him, for me, for our family.

Until we can break through, we will make do with our dozens of signs and gestures and pointing and guessing. I will turn and look at him hundreds of times a day, making eye contact, suggesting words and ideas to see if that’s what he meant to tell me. I will repeat back the word for every sign so he can be sure I really understood. We will celebrate each new sound that makes it past those lips. And we will pray that God will open the channels from his mind to his voice so we can learn even more about this remarkable boy we call Son.