To me motherhood is in so many ways hope. I hoped and prayed and waited to be a mommy. I trusted and waited. I wrestled and waited. I cried and waited. And really, as long as it felt in my heart, I didn't actually wait that long; I only tasted what so many people experience in waiting. God was kind and merciful and sovereignly knew when it was time and gave us our little Behr. Because of that (and probably because he's only five months old), I almost always see the promise of God in him. Quite honestly--and I know I'm speaking as someone who has an overall "easy baby" who usually sleeps and usually laughs more than he cries and whose biggest health challenge is seemingly endless sore gums--on Behr's worst days, the days he cries and cries and screams and arches his back and looks at me with tears on his cheeks seeming to ask why I can't fix his pains or frustrations, I am more grateful for him and more blessed to be his mommy than any other day. (That's not to say I don't go to bed exhausted on those days and silently beg for him to sleep even for half an hour so I can get a ten minute nap or moment to myself.)
I still cannot believe he's real. I simply can't. There are moments I look at him and I'm just in awe that God would give us this little boy as our son, that we get to hold him and squish him and clean up after him and burp him and simply love on him in it's various forms for the rest of his days. I know that some day he will make me so mad I'll go sit in the bathroom to try and collect myself and keep from yelling at him or pulling my hair out. I know that some day he'll be an awkward, big footed, smelly teenager testing his mom and dad's limits and sanity. I know that some day, Lord-willing, he will leave to be a man on his own. But for every one of those days I want to remain grateful. And hopeful of all that God has already done in providing him and all that God will do to continue teaching me to trust Him to be his mother and trust him to his Creator.
Little Behr Malachi you speak to me hope. I love you son.
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all.