Only Love

Motherhood finds me in the strangest places.

The cries of a son who doesn't sleep well. Groans as I force myself out of my bed to his crib. He stands there now and the tears fall from his face and the exhaustion is so real and potent that the compassion I should feel is evaporated. I hold him, and rock him, remind him that I am indeed there for him.

At least once a night now I hear the smallest pitter patter of feet, the slightest creaking of my door. My daughter crawls into my bed with her baby elephant and her green worn blanket. She snuggles into my arms and I can feel her breathing get calmer, slower. I close my eyes and turn my face away from her wispy hair. I can feel her become more and more peaceful. Until she crawls back into her bed, snuggled up with her animals, quiet, still.

I alternate between hating and loving these routines. Smiling at the power I have to help calm their little worlds. Crying in anguish over the messes and lack of sleep. The deep desire for everything to run smoothly, to have time to do EVERY THING I want to do. The list in my head grows and grows, constantly present. It is often put on pause.

Little hands pull at my pants legs. Little feet run back and forth in our tiny house between her room and the kitchen. I encourage the running. She has so. much. energy. Selfishness creeps into my heart, I want to sit and create. I want to make messes on paper with colors and shapes. I want to practice more and more. I want studio time. I long for quiet. I love for time alone. Joy is stolen by selfish desire.

My children Need Me. Constantly Need Me. My arms scoop them up when they are hurt, my kisses ease their pain. In the deepest black of night they long for me and only me.

There is a power in that. Quiet and strong. Of all the people in the world, and people who truly love them, my children long for and need...me.

As inadequate and selfish as I am, they need me. All my insecurities and hurts and failings fade when I hold them in the dead of night. I rock my son, his head tucked under my chin and I feel important. I snuggle my daughter close to me, my hand on her chest, her heart beating slowing from its erratic pace and I know I am loved.

Motherhood has taught me more than I will ever be able to explain. And yes, I write about it a lot. Why wouldn't I? We all have our jobs and passions. I am passionate about the job I have been given. These hard days with my children. These beautiful moments where they teach me about the self I want to be.

They don't know what time it is, they don't know about financial stresses, they don't know that I am completely and utterly exhausted two thirds of the time. They don't know what time we have to get up, they don't know what appointments we have. They only know Love.

And that I know I can give freely.