Last week I was driving to teach piano lessons and I was reflecting on a quilt I am making. The quilt is a "practice quilt," as I bought fabric recently to make a baby quilt, but I wanted to practice first before I do the real thing.
This led me to thinking about the actual baby quilt and our someday baby. A huge smile crept across my face and I let myself start thinking about that baby. What would they look like? Would it be a boy or a girl? And oh how sweet the moment we meet will be.
"I love her so much already!" I thought with excitement. (I know, I said her. It's just what I was thinking about then.)
And that was the moment I realized that future baby is growing in my heart already. You know, like that adoption poem that everyone has heard:
Not flesh of my flesh, or bone of my bone
But some how still miraculously my own
Never forget for a single minute
You grew not under my heart but in it
I wouldn't even say I have baby fever at this point - I am dutifully putting one foot in front of the other to proceed with the adoption and prepare our house and hearts for a little one, but it's certainly not all I think about or obsess over (like the last time while waiting for Levi).
It's just that in that moment, driving in the car, listening to a song declaring my amazement at God's wonderfulness, I realized, that yes, there IS a baby coming, I am loving him/her already, and that is very cool.
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
I know my title is not politically correct at all, but stick with me.
Sunday morning, Levi and I had it out big time. Not his finest moment as a three year old, and certainly not my finest moment as a graceful mother. After the incident and some daddy intervention, we were all calm and hugging and had each apologized.
By the time church rolled around, Levi was nothing but his sweet self. So you can understand why, then, I was astounded when he walked up to me after children's church, kissed my cheek, and in the sweetest voice ever said,
"Mommy, I hate you."
Herb (and other church people) were well within ear shot.
"Levi," I said, "do you know what hate means? We only hate bad things like....car crashes."
"And hitting?" He asked.
"Yes, hitting. We hate hitting."
"Oh, okay. Then I just hate old people."
I'm not sure where he heard hate ... Or old people for that matter. And I assumed old people meant elderly, but someone very wisely pointed out that to him old people might mean all adults. So, that was another interesting talk. This parenting thing is no joke.