Tugs I Love...

I have one tiny human relying on me at all times. Clinging to me, pulling on my pants or shorts "wanting up", begging for attention, or food, or loves and snuggles, or toys.  She needs me so much that the first thing I hear in the morning is her coo's or cries from her crib, depending on the morning it's a, "Momma I awake" or a "dang-it come get me, Momma," and the last thing before I go to sleep is her open mouth kisses, a Hi-5, and the sound of her breathing as it settles as she lays in my arms falling asleep. She needs me. So, I pour everything I have into her. I mother her until every bone aches, every heart string pulls tight-- until every fiber of my being has been used and wrung out and re-used again. I scoop her up to kiss her owe'es, cuddle her to sleep, listen to her coo's as she tells me stories at bath-time and supper time. Play peek-a-boo with her, read stories with her, play in water with her, go on walks, and make messes with her. And sometimes, sometimes I feel lost in it all. Like I disappeared into a vast expanse of soo's and ranch flavored snacks; that I might never find my way back. "Ah! Never a day off" I'll say to my husband as he walks in the door from work. I cry. My on week at work, I work and then Mother my baby; my off week from work, I mother my baby and play catch up from previous work week. So he'll hold me and calm me down because he's wonderful and supportive and knows me like no-one else does. The next day he will make time in his busy schedule to show me he cares by taking our baby and letting me breath. Alone. By myself. Just to breath. I saunter around my little house picking up here and there, but mostly just walking. I wander aisles of Walmart or Target picking up some toilet paper and cereal; the essentials. But again, mostly just walking. Thinking. Slowly. Not chasing and grabbing and saying "No!" or "Don't pull everything off the shelf, baby!" or "Don't put that in your mouth!" ... and it is glorious. But then, after a little while of hearing my own coherent thoughts in a weird state of quiet bliss, something happens to me: I start to miss her. Suddenly, I feel like I don't remember what her coo's sound like. I can't remember the weight of her warm body in my arms as she drifts to sleep. I can't quite remember the smell of her freshly washed hair smothered in baby magic, or see her overly dimpled smile spread as she runs and plays and giggles. I quickly open my phone in a state of panic to look through pictures of her because I can't get home fast enough to peek into her room. To see her sleeping face. To kiss her rosy cheeks. So when I start to feel like these moments/ days of chaos with my baby will never end, I suddenly realize that I may not want them to. My baby will not always be a baby. And someday she won't want me like she wants me now and the thought is heart wrenching. So I can't afford to be annoyed or bothered by her cries for my arms and tugs at my pants, or by her need to play with me, or by her urgency to sit on my lap and play with my face, or by her tiny arms around my ankles as I attempt to make supper, or by her pulling out everything from my cupboards and spilling out every box. Because as much as she need me, I need her one million times more. When I remember this, I'm not lost anymore. In fact, I am the most found that I've ever been. And it's wonderful. She is my wonderful. My blessing. My gift of love. I have been called a lot of names, but "momma" is my favorite!
*Come what may & love it!*