Maybe you’ve been told something like, “Don’t wish these moments away. You’ll want them back someday.” Did it make you smile? Did it make you stop and think?
Or was your response something a little more like, “You let this little snot-rocket come after you and then say that to my face!”
I really don’t mean to sound all uppity. I don’t even mean to sound old and wise (although I am getting on up there, and I’m certainly praying I’m wiser than I was back when I did some of the stupid stuff I’ve done in the past that shall verily remain shrouded in mystery). What I mean to sound is helpful. No, I mean really helpful.
When I say you will wish these moments back, what I mean is there will come a time when you think back on the fingers stretching out beneath the bathroom door when all you wanted was a moment of peace, the glazed doughnut monster of snottingham’s unwelcome kisses being applied to your freshly showered face, the nights of broken sleep…and you will actually miss it.
Not that you will miss the invasion, or the snot, or the bloodshot eyes and incoherent speech. What you will miss are the little faces, the big eyes filled with wonder, the tight hugs at bedtime, the “Mama, you are the bestest ever.”
Because those things get caught up in the breezes of time and blow away.
They melt into classes and meetings and excursions and parties and dinners out and driving permits and weddings and goodbyes. And while goodbye is not forever, it does leave things very, very quiet.
Right now the thought of quiet may sound like the purest music you’ve ever heard. Might even sound too good to be true. I’m not suggesting you dread the quiet that will come. I’m suggesting you enjoy the busy and beautiful noise, the crazy and chaotic flurry of family all around you.
Things will calm down. Those littles will grow up. The sticky kisses will cease.
The watercolor ponies will ride away, and you will wish them back.
But that isn’t even the real promise.
The Mama Promise is that you will smile a lot more deeply if you think a little more clearly about this life you are living right now in the midst of the motherhood mayhem. If you thank God for every dirty face, every untidy room, every load of laundry, every moment made less peaceful by a bathroom buddy.
Because each one of these things is from His hand, a grace only a mother could love.
Don’t wish away these moments, Mama. Savor them for all they are worth. Trust me when I say they are worth far more than you could possibly know right now.
You will be glad you did. I promise.
Lisa Luke Easterling 