A spring Saturday with Daddy on call on Louisville’s most accident-prone days, I knew it was a day for the three of us. I indulged myself with a 6:45 am alarm. You slept in enough for coffee to be made, eggs to be scrambled, and my eyes to open enough to greet the day happy at its arrival. I vowed that this Saturday, I would try to truly honor a Sabbath. I would not attempt to accomplish anything other than be with the two of you.
This is not to say being your mother is a restful task. You failed at sharing within moments of playing together and you squealed when things didn’t go your way. As I make my way through this journey with you as your mother, I give of myself, my personhood and my body, my daily tasks and my daily worries as means to grant you life, sustain that life within you, and nourish its growth.
I have to change diapers, wipe jelly-filled faces, and remind you to go to the bathroom. You are still young enough to rely upon me for your daily life and you have not yet learned to desire any company other than just mine. It is a fact that I both love and begrudge at the same time.
The weight of the task is palpable as at the end of the day, my shoulders hold the tension and my eyelids droop as soon as the sun sets.
One day the weight of parenthood will change as your world will expand to hold others. Our Saturdays will include sports practices and school projects and time with friends. I will find more time to accomplish projects because I am sharing you with others.
But for now, you in me and I in you, we abide in one another.
This morning we made a list of all the wonderful things we could do and we set out to accomplish them. We enjoyed pancakes drenched in syrup and got ourselves dressed. We walked to the park where you made new friends and climbed to great heights. We walked to the library and you pulled countless books off the shelf. We walked home and played “I Spy” with colors and shapes and car brands. We packed up and enjoyed a messy outdoor lunch with Gran and Grandpa. We napped, Netflixed, and laid around. We enjoyed dinner and talked about Iron Man and Star Wars and all things Dragons. We walked to the local ice cream shop and we sat outside while ice cream dripped down your arms, necks, and legs.
You were a sight to behold. Two little boys in baseball hats in a red wagon.
Walking back, we encountered an older woman with her dog. “Both yours?” she asked.
Yes, both mine, for today.
For the days to come when this day is a memory, I give thanks for the opportunity to pause and give thanks as it happens.