Last night I sat and rubbed my daughters back while I sang the songs I used to sing when we rocked in the rocking chair. She drifted off to dream land and I slipped back in time.
Memories of the first night home with her, nursing her, and the first time I was delighted to find she had a dimple flooded my mind. She was so different from her brother – dressed in head to toe pink, with a pink bow and wrapped in all pink blankets. I took so much joy in having my sweet baby girl!
I can’t praise God enough for this bundle of joy – yet I find myself during the day exhausted with training her, inpatient, and at times tempted to believe it will be easier when she’s a bit more grown up.
Then I read this poem and my whole perspective changed.
If you are in the season of life where the children have you weary this is for you:
‘One of these days you’ll explode and shout to the kids, “Why don’t you grow up and act your age?”
…and they will.
OR: “You guys get outside and find yourselves something to do. And don’t slam the door!”
…and they don’t.
You’ll straighten up the boys’ bedroom neat and tidy — bumper stickers discarded, bedspread tucked and smooth, toys displayed on the shelves. Hangers in the closet. Animals caged. And you’ll say out loud, “Now I want it to stay this way.”
…and it will.
You’ll prepare a perfect dinner with a salad that hasn’t been picked to death and a cake with no finger traces in the icing, and you’ll say, “Now, there’s a meal for company.”
…and you’ll eat it alone.
You’ll say: “I want complete privacy on the phone. No dancing around. No demolition crews. Silence! Do your hear?”
…and you’ll have it.
No more plastic tablecloths stained with spaghetti.
No more bedspreads to protect the sofa from damp bottoms.
No more gates to stumble over at the top of the basement steps.
No more clothespins under the sofa.
No more playpens to arrange a room around.
No more anxious nights under a vaporizer tent.
No more sand on the sheets or Popeye movies in the bathrooms.
No more iron-on-patches, wet, knotted shoestrings, tight boots, or rubber bands for ponytails.
A lipstick with a point on it.
No baby sitter for New Year’s Eve.
Washing only once a week.
Seeing a steak that isn’t ground.
Having your teeth cleaned without a baby on your lap.
No PTA meetings.
No car pools.
No blaring radios.
No one washing her hair at 11 o’clock at night.
Having your own roll of Scotch tape.
Think about it.
No more Christmas presents out of toothpicks and library paste.
No more sloppy oatmeal kisses.
No more tooth fairy.
No giggles in the dark.
No knees to heal, no responsibility.
Only a voice crying, “Why don’t you grow up?”
and the silence echoing,
By – Erma Bombeck
Galatians 6:9 “Do not grow weary in doing good for in due season you will reap a harvest IF you do not give up.”