Last week, Ada had her re-scheduled Christmas program at her preschool. The sight of her, so proud and happy, the only child waving to her parents, seeing how seriously she performed her hand gestures and sang as loudly as she could, just about did me in.
I fought back tears and looked around the church to see if anyone else was struggling. Nope. Everyone else seemed to just be enjoying watching their child sing while I was fighting to keep myself from bursting into sobs.
I feel like I am such a blubberball mother.
The smallest things turn me into a big mushball. I get choked up over scribbled pictures, cry in the middle of the night when I think about my baby having to navigate a lunchroom, try my hardest to capture these memories of my children, small and young and still needing me.
The other day, Ben mentioned something about how Mya had sounded when she cried as an infant.
“Remember her cry?” he asked. “It was like an ear-piercing screech!” he proclaimed, shaking his head a little at the memory.
I stared at him, panic and embarrassment written over my face.
Because I couldn’t remember.
There are so many things I already can’t remember about my children as babies. I can remember looking into their faces as babies, thinking that there was no way I could ever forget the sight of to their smiling faces every morning, the weight of their cool, smooth cheek on mine, the sound of their baby gurgles.
But I have.
It’s hard for me to recall exactly what each one looked like, smelled like, sounded like at each moment of their babyhood. In a way, it all seems like a blur.
And while that fact at once threatens to undo me, it also prompts me to try to focus on the memories that lie ahead.
I try to remember that I really have tried to live in the present with my children. That although I haven’t captured every memory in photos or a scrapbook or even on this blog, that I have lived them.
That every moment certainly hasn’t been wonderful and that I have done my best of this whirlwind time of small children.
I don’t want to always be on the verge of tears as I watch my children’s milestones, dreading the future and each cut of the apron string.
I want to learn to look forward to who they will become and appreciate that they are still with me and be excited to have the opportunity to watch them grow.
But I won’t lie to you.
Especially for us blubberball moms.