Hold Your Baby

One day, you’ll be able to eat in peace. You’ll sit down and no one will dig their chubby fingers into your eggs or spill your coffee. One day, you’ll take an unhurried shower. You’ll dry your hair and paint your lips. One day, you’ll clean your house and it will stay spotless for at least a few days. You’ll run a dust cloth over the shelf just in case and adjust the angle of the lamp. One day, you’ll look at the calendar and see many hours that need filling. One day, the laundry hamper will be emptied before it even fills. You’ll stare into a full closet and deliberate over which shirt to wear. One day, you’ll get into your car and won’t find a forgotten baby bottle or crumbs on the floor mats. You’ll adjust the mirrors and scan the backseat.

And you’ll cry. Because you miss them. Because those days are over. Because when did they last call? Because you worry about them still. Because you gave your heart a thousand times.

It grew and stretched and broke and mended. Because you loved with every bit of it. Through early mornings and sleepless nights, you gave it away again and again. It was hard and precious. It was painful and healing. And sitting alone in the quiet peace, you’ll long for it again.

If you’re staring at a full sink in a loud house with half a mug of cold coffee in your hand, unwashed hair piled high, small arms tugging on your leg, wondering how you’ll get it all done…

Remember, it will all be over one day. The chaos and the beauty will fade. Go hold your baby, Mama.