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“You are the only proof I’ll ever need that miracles are possible,” Kristen Hubbard.  I woke up this weekend after a nightmare filled sleep, my son tossing and turning, animals making their way into the bed, and my thoughts moving in any direction other than where I was at.  I got up and I started working and my son woke up less than 10 minutes of me being out of the bed.   I got frustrated because I wasn’t ready to get up that early anyway, I had made peace with using the time to work, and then my son couldn’t be without me.  I snapped at him because he wouldn’t settle on the couch so I couldn’t get done what I needed to.  I adore him, but he is over four years old and hasn’t slept a single night alone and I reached my breaking point. 

I walked away for a moment, fed the cats, and when I came back he was settled.  I looked at him, and I have all the love in the universe for him and I felt regret for losing it.  Sometimes we can’t help it—there is too much stimulation at once and we aren’t able to process it all.  That doesn’t change that I love him.  I also know that he isn’t doing this intentionally—he is struggling with some type of fear.  Most of the time I am able to recognize that and help him work through it.  I’m working on not snapping when I’m trying to get things done.  My fear creeps up that I will never be able to do what I need to do because of the level of attention he requires.  But then I realize this too is temporary.

Time moves quickly and we are blessed to have what we do.  To have the opportunities to love as we do.  Everything that needs to get done will—it always has.  So that is on me to control my fears.  To stop projecting what I fear will happen over what is really happening.  This morning, my son needed support, not criticism.  I am here to support him, to love him, to coach him through what he needs.  I am so fortunate to be able to do that.  There will be a point in the not too distant future where he probably won’t want to associate with me at all.  And then I will wonder what happened to my boy. 

When I became a mother, I had no clue what I was doing.  I was alone a lot because of the work my husband did, I had to go back to work really quickly after birth, and I wasn’t fully prepared for the aftermath, including post-partum.  I had initially undertaken motherhood as another obligation because it was something I had to fit in my life—I wasn’t gifted the opportunity to relish the changes.  As the years have gone on, things have naturally improved and we have gotten into our own routine.  Each day passes and I feel better about where we are.

The other side to this is that we forget to look at ourselves as miracles.  The fact we are here, breathing, functioning, able to create things is a miracle.  We often see the beauty in others but forget the miracle that we are as well.  I know the sweetness of my sons hand in mine and falling back into fear doesn’t mean I don’t recognize that.  Someday I will have the grace to accept it as is.  Somedays I do.  Perhaps it was just a bad night’s sleep.  I just need to go with it.

2 thoughts on “Miracles

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