being your mama (part 2)

This Mother’s Day is extra special. I get to celebrate being the mommy of not just one, but two awesome little boys. Here’s my little note to Asher James.

Asher, being your mama has been a living lesson in just how incredible this life is.

I remember when I discovered that the master of the universe was at work in me, creating you. I remember how I surprised Daddy with the news on that early morning in July, and how he was ecstatic, and so was I.

Asher, being your mama is living in constant surprise and excitement.

With wonder, I saw my body change and belly expand, as you grew from just a tiny dot into a beautiful masterpiece, God’s brushstrokes all over you.

Asher, being your mama meant feeling you move before you took your first breath. Lying in bed the night before we saw you on the monitor, I wondered aloud if you’d be a boy or a girl. And Daddy put his hand on my little bump, and you let him feel your presence for the first time. Kick, kick, kick. And I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep, with a feeling we’d soon be adding another sweet son to our family.

Being your mama left me speechless as I heard your heart thump and swish. Being your mama left my eyes blurry as I watched your little body rock and sway.

As the Creator of all things shaped and molded you, being your mama meant achy bones and 500 pillows on the bed. An itchy belly and stretchy pants in the closet. A weepy heart and crumpled tissues on the floor.

Being your mama meant being blessed by so many friends and family, far and near, who showered me with words of wisdom and sweet little things meant just for you. It meant washing tiny onesies and researching rocking chairs. It meant loving you without knowing you.

And being your mama meant waiting. We passed the circled date on the calendar, but still I carried you inside of me. Grandma came and we passed the time taking long walks and eating pineapple and visiting the chiropractor and bouncing on a ball. Still, we waited.

And waited.

And then, me and Daddy checked into the hospital late on a Thursday night. When the rest of the world was sleeping, I was preparing to be awake in a whole new way. And being your mama meant letting go of some of my dreams of your arrival, and taking hold of new ones.

Being your mama meant doubling over in the worst kind of pain, but in the midst of strains and spasms, feeling a sense peace, knowing I was going to meet you after nine months of anticipation.

Would you have green eyes like me? Would you be full of energy like your brother? Would you have Daddy’s sense of wonder? (Or just his wild hair?)

Being your mama meant deep breaths. In and out, in and out. It meant suddenly feeling completely unprepared. It meant gripping Daddy’s hand until it turned white, and hearing Grandma softly cheer me on as I helped you arrive. It meant closing my eyes and praying for you to be safe, as the bright lights flickered on and the nurses and the doctor crowded into our little room. It meant energy and exhaustion. It meant opening my eyes and seeing your perfectly pink little body and big bright eyes, quietly soaking in the new world you just entered.

It meant seeing you take your first breath. Feeling your soft body cuddle on my chest. Locking eyes with you, quite sure I could never look away.

Being your mama has allowed me to see God’s penmanship scrawled across even the most mundane. Your midnight feedings, your 1,000 diaper changes, your burps and spit-ups.

Being your mama means I can’t believe that you are six weeks old today.

Asher James, I think being your mama means time will pass much too quickly.

And that’s why I take so many pictures. That’s why I wear you in your sling. That’s why I sleep by you. Because I want to soak in your sweetness. I want to bask in your coo’s and little whimpers.

I want to etch our constant cuddles in my mind. Because soon you’ll take your first steps. Because soon you’ll be walking your big feet down an aisle to get your diploma.

Being your mama means watching your chest move up and down as I write this post, marveling over how much you’ve already changed and grown. Late last night, when all of the lights were low and it was just me and you and Daddy, resting in the quiet, you gave me a smile. A big smile. A real smile. And I could feel my heart leap.

Being your mama has meant only a few hours of sleep. Dirty dishes in the sink. Hair that needs brushed. Jeans that don’t zip.

And me, with a heart that feels it might burst from gratitude and joy, every time I hold you in my arms.

Your name means happy and blessed, which is what being your mama has made me.

Thank you for making this Mother’s Day extra special.

I love you, Asher James Craig.

Advertisement