Mother's Day Musings

On Saturday, we were moving stuff around in our basement, cleaning things out, getting ready for summer. And stuffed into one of the cubbies of our old computer armoire, I found this poem, written in April of 2004:

Discovered today in joy
A surprise to the not yet father
A not yet mother in awe


The is a two line result
Small in comparison to multiplying cells


Are you real yet?
I concede I cannot yet imagine you
I wonder how fast you will grow


My beloved in my beloved
Certainly a time like none I have ever known
You are beautiful because this is beautiful
How you will grow and grow


And then, someday we will meet
What joy surrounds on a day we will never forget. 
For the first time I care for what I do not even know- and I care completely


-Dave (ehrrr...dad)

I remember coming into the bedroom that night, seeing him jotting down words on a page, tears of wonder glistening in his eyes. He read it to me. And we cried together. Because we were in awe, because we were happy, because we were scared. Really scared. The bliss of ignorance, the fear of the unknown, the promise of a new life. It was all of that and more.

He folded it, put in the middle of a book he was reading, and there it stayed. Sentiment set aside for the busy-ness of life.

Our little girl was born, with red hair like mom, and dimples, like dad. She grew and grew, and we loved her more than we could have ever imagined that warm April night.

Dave was offered a job across the country and we sold our first home and moved away. Somewhere between one child and another, the poem was found by one and read again, together. Again, there were tears, tears because we remembered our joy, and our innocence, and our fear. And it is all still there, just below the surface, but the feelings are deeper. So much deeper, because now we know, and know intimately, what it was we did not yet know.

Another move behind us, our family now complete, the poem reappears. This time, we are too busy to spend more than a few minutes reflecting on those early days when life was but a dream. Because it is no longer a dream. Life is loose teeth and Saturday afternoons on the trampoline. Life is What do you want for breakfast? and  Tell your sister you're sorry and I promise there will never, ever be a tornado here like that again. You are safe. Life is beautiful, uninhibited laughter, and  lots and lots and lots of tears. Only some of them your own.

 Life. It is enhanced by poetry, inspired by dreams, but lived in the grass stains and sticky fingers of the everyday.

Not always fun

Sometimes messy

 Unfathomably beautiful.