I belong to a mom group on facebook. It’s a bunch of girls that I’ve never met, and it’s completely random how I found them, but in the past two years, they’ve become my go to for mom advice, venting and random kid stuff. They’ve been talking a lot about pictures lately. About making our husband take pictures more often, because most of the time we’re the one’s taking the pictures and then we’re never in them. And then we talk about not deleting those pictures even though we don’t like how we look in them. Because our kids won’t care, and all they’ll want is pictures of their mom.
So this morning while I was eating breakfast, and laughing that this is what my life looks like now, I asked Tom to take a picture. And yes I can be critical of my appearance. It was before 7, I haven’t worn make up in over a month, my hair is thrown up, and my nose is all scrunched. But when E and G look back on this picture when they’re adults, will they see that? Or will they see how much their mom loves them? That she will always make room for both of them on her lap, because she knows that one day she’ll be eating breakfast, and her lap will be empty…
So while I see a tired mama who isn’t looking her best, I also see a moment in time. A moment that I want to freeze. To remember. So that when that day comes that my lap is empty, I’ll remember all the little details. So I see that mama who loves her kids and opens her lap to them, no matter what.
I see a messy house. I see a house with a large child gate going through it and dish towels hanging from the upper cabinets because if we hang them from the stove, the toddler runs off with them. I see my water cup on the counter where I leave it at night so I can drink from it when I’m pacing with G and have no free hands but can sip from a straw, and I see E’s water cup sitting next to it.
I see the bowl next to the sink where we heat bottles. The paper next to stove where Tom and I keep track of how much the baby’s eating and the last time we changed diapers, because when you aren’t getting any sleep, you forget these things.
I see my hand grabbing E’s PJs because I was worried about him falling backwards off my lap, and that was my best option for holding on to him. I see G’s crazy hair that I don’t know what to do with, and change my mind daily on what color it is. I see a picture of me and both my kids.
