Today was one of those mama-of-toddler days that leaves me limp on the couch with my eyes half closed by 7:30pm. Fits and tantrums and disobedience all evening long.
These are the days I choose to scroll back through photos and videos of the past eight months with this miracle boy and fight the urge to wake him, to hold him close, to tell him I love him and he is safe here and that he’s my very favorite little guy.
I find myself wishing these 2 1/2 year old craziness hours to tick past quickly and simultaneously feeling my heart heave at the thought of another year passing for this baby (who is not at all a baby anymore). “Mommy don’t help me. I do it myself.” Telling me a story, or choosing his own clothes, or learning to button a button, and I can’t hold on tight enough.
Each day that passes feels more and more like we are a “normal family.” Like it has always been this way, the three of us, Mommy and Daddy, and D. And I will catch myself forgetting that God orchestrated our family in such a way that things are shaky and sometimes scary, but that our story of togetherness is beautiful and complicated and not a bit normal. So I’m thankful. I’m thankful that my story is full and precious. I’m thankful that the picture I had in my head was all wrong.
Our journey to this new normal was painful. More days I begged to go by faster than I care to admit. More pain for that sweet boy than I will ever know, this side of heaven. But I am thankful for a Savior. A Healer. A Divine Creator that chose this life for me on purpose. So on the hard days of tantrums and anger and disobedience, I will breathe in deeply of my Saviors plan and exhale my own.