Last night I crawled into my bed early. Alone. With books, mp3 player, a journal, a yellow legal pad and pens. Ready for some me time.
I looked over and saw "Everyone Poops" by Taro Gomi on the nightstand. As my feet found their spot under the covers they felt broken pieces of stale crackers. Strangely, they were as comforting as my soft flannel sheets.
This is my life.
Paige hasn't eaten a full meal in her high chair in months. She goes from plate to plate, making her rounds at every ones seat. She nibbles and shares. But she eats, so we indulge her {though her dining companions might not thank us for that when she's 30 and eating off of all her dinner guests plates... but we'll foot the bill for therapy if it comes to that... }
This is my life.
Laps overtaken, shoulders and arms clung to, climbed on. In libraries, at grocery stores, at home.
We've lost sight of boundary lines, if there were any. We've embraced smudging lines on what is ours and what is theirs. We reach over children to give our love looks. Our love thrives, becomes more with these crossed boundaries and personal bubbles that are now bulging and prodded at because mine is also his, and one of their arms or legs is always trying to find it's way in. Most often it's not met with reluctance.
They sleep with us when they need to.
They cuddle and snuggle while dinner waits on the stove.
They hold onto books and my arms through naps.
Their tears are met with warmth, their joys with smiles and hugs.
They are loved without boundaries.
This is my life.
My love.
These are my gifts.
I cherish every broken cracker found in their absence. Every tomato fed to me off of my own dinner plate by a generous 18 month old. Every late night "I love you Mommy" delivered by my son.
This is my life. These are my gifts.
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Please visit Emily at Chatting at the Sky for more Tuesday’s Unwrapped. You’ll find simple moments and simple mysteries unwrapped in everyday life. Enjoy!