During the week, it feels like we’ve established an
effective “routine” with our son. Most days, I get up before work to feed him;
this allows my husband to get a little more sleep (he takes the last feeding of
the evening, so that I can get a little more sleep—it’s a good trade-off!). The
only problem is, that early in the morning, JD is not necessarily awake.
I find myself blowing zerberts on tiny cheeks and tickling
baby feet in an effort to wake him up to feed him…and this is after the diaper
change! He’s a sound sleeper, like his daddy.
When he finally comes around, I’m rewarded with the most
beautiful smile in the world. I promptly forget how tired, crabby, or sore I
am; I can’t help but to smile back. Someone at church kissed his little cheek
the other day, and got the same smile; she said, “He likes kisses! You must
kiss him a lot!”
All the time…
Every chance I get…
I know the day will come when I will hear, “Eww, Momma! That’s
gross!”
And even though my mama’s heart will crack just a little
bit,
I will kiss him anyways.
He’s going to have to deal with it for the rest of his life.
So, this morning was pretty typical, although he seemed more
tired than usual. He’s got a cold, and he didn’t sleep well. Couple that with
the morons that see fit to blow up fireworks at 10:00 on a weeknight, and I
didn’t sleep well, either. Waking him up this morning took a herculean effort.
Lots of kisses! Lots
of zerberts! Lots of tickling! So. Much.
Wooooooorrrrkkkk (insert sarcastic overtones)!!!
He’s so stinkin’ cute.
The cold has made him pretty cranky this week, although it
seems my day with him was the worst. David had him all day yesterday, and I was
so happy to hear that the fussiness was minimal. It seems like he saved his
best screaming fits for ME. Yay. By Tuesday’s end, I was exhausted, and
wondering if I was just terrible at this stuff? I don’t think so…but I bet I
walked 100 miles with that child, in my living room alone. There’s not much you
can do for a baby with a cold, except run the humidifier. I’ve also been
rubbing him down with Vicks, eucalyptus, and lavender, and praying A LOT. We
did make a frantic run to the pediatrician after he went kind of listless on
me; after a nap, he seemed normal, so I felt a lot better.
Anyways, this morning, he was so sleepy…holding him was like
holding a doll filled with sandbag. Every time he lays like that, I’m reminded
just how precious he is…my little wet noodle-bug!
He feels secure enough with me, to sleep peacefully.
He feels secure enough with me, to smile at me, and snuggle
into my chest.
He feels safe with me…
As I was driving into work this morning, and caught the sun
rising behind the St. Louis skyline, I couldn’t help but to stop, turn off the
radio, and pray. God paints the most amazing wake-up calls! How could I not be
thankful? How could I not pause and celebrate a Lord that loves us enough to
make THAT?
I snuggle the bundle of sheer happiness in my arms, and
think about the sacrifice of Jesus. I’m sorry, y’all, but I would NOT let my
son die for you. Ain’t happening.
Yet another reason why I am not God.
I would die for my son. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for
my son. There’s another person inside of me that is a ferocious beast of a bear
that would seriously end someone who tried to harm my son. They’d be done for.
Yet our Father stood back and let the world beat, maim, torture,
and kill His baby Boy.
What kind of Crazy Love is THAT?!?!?!?!?
I can’t even comprehend it. I start to think about it, and I
get physically ill, thinking of what the Father went through.
My pregnancies have completely revolutionized how I view the
Crucifixion…how I view various types and shadows in Scripture…I cannot
comprehend His love…
He holds us in His arms…We find rest.
Just like JD knows he can flop like a wet noodle in Mama’s
arms, we know we can rest in the embrace of Jesus…
I recently found out that I have to have yet another
surgery. My initial response was to call my mother in tears (I actually woke
her up, which probably wasn’t my best move), and to freak out about my job,
about being out of medical leave, how am I going to take care of my son, etc
(not in that order). As usual, she reminded me that God is bigger, which I’ve
struggled with realizing this week.
I’m not looking forward to this. Frankly, I’ve been cut on
WAY too much for this lifetime. This is my 5th abdominal surgery,
and my 7th overall. I’m tired of anesthesia, tired of hospitals,
tired of nurses, and tired of being “broken.” I’m aggravated that it’s come to
this, and I’m scared.
This morning, I was reminded of my place.
It isn’t my place, to be afraid.
It isn’t my place, to worry about my job.
It isn’t my place, to make plans and preparations, and to
freak out if things don’t work out according to my order.
It isn’t my place, to stress.
It is my place to pray about this stuff…
It is my place to model my heart after my son…
To lie in the arms of the Father…
And to rest…
I feel safe enough with Him…
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