It was about a week ago, Sunday to be exact, that something occurred to me: no matter how many things I do wrong or how many times I mess up, Little Two continues to love me. Amazing ...
In staying home that morning I thought I was being a wise mother ... prudent even. After all, Little Two was sick (again!) and missing a nap was most certainly out of the question. This poor little one needed as much sleep as possible to get over all the colds, stomach viruses, RSV and mono that have plagued him all winter long. Thus, Little Two and I stayed home so he could nap while Husband took Little One to church and Sunday School. The morning seemed to be off to a good start: Husband and Little One were up, ready and off to where they needed to be (on time I might add) while I put Little Two down for nap and rested myself (thank you Little Two for sharing a rather miserable stomach bug).
After Little Two woke up from his nap, I ingeniously barricaded him in his little nook while I finished getting ready to meet Husband and Little One. Now, moms understand it is nearly impossible to get ready with a mobile and curious little one crawling around, which is why barricading him in his nook with toys was simply genius. However, after a few cries (parents of more than one little one will attest that after the first one you just don't run over as quickly when they cry) I went in to check on him and saw he had pushed the coffee table over just enough so that the sharp corner was sticking into his room instead of behind the wall, and just under that corner of the table was a block he desperately wanted. Putting two and two together, I realized he had repeatedly hit the middle of his forehead on the point in pursuit of the block. Strike one.
Being the sympathetic and wise mother that I am, I brought Little Two into our room and shut the door to protect him from the steep stairs which were just on the other side. My back was literally turned for 5 seconds, but when I looked back, the door was open and all I saw was one of Little Two's feet ... briefly. Little Two was now doing the luge head first (I guess that makes it the skeleton) down our stairs, heading right for the wall and front door. My heart stopped and I froze as I watched him fall/bounce down and then finally flip onto his back at the bottom. Strike Two and it was only ten o'clock in the morning.
As I held my screaming little one (while thanking God he was screaming and moving), it occurred to me that even though it was my fault Little Two did the skeleton down the stairs and had bruises on his forehead, he still wanted and needed comfort from me. Often times I hear people talking about how being a parent has allowed them to understand how much God loves us ... that is very true and I, too, have experienced that ... but in this moment, while Little Two was holding on to me, I felt this unconditional love completely free from judgment that I most definitely did not deserve that morning. In that moment I was not the parent loving my little ones as God loves us; instead, I was the imperfect little one receiving the perfect loving kindness God bestows on us.
In staying home that morning I thought I was being a wise mother ... prudent even. After all, Little Two was sick (again!) and missing a nap was most certainly out of the question. This poor little one needed as much sleep as possible to get over all the colds, stomach viruses, RSV and mono that have plagued him all winter long. Thus, Little Two and I stayed home so he could nap while Husband took Little One to church and Sunday School. The morning seemed to be off to a good start: Husband and Little One were up, ready and off to where they needed to be (on time I might add) while I put Little Two down for nap and rested myself (thank you Little Two for sharing a rather miserable stomach bug). After Little Two woke up from his nap, I ingeniously barricaded him in his little nook while I finished getting ready to meet Husband and Little One. Now, moms understand it is nearly impossible to get ready with a mobile and curious little one crawling around, which is why barricading him in his nook with toys was simply genius. However, after a few cries (parents of more than one little one will attest that after the first one you just don't run over as quickly when they cry) I went in to check on him and saw he had pushed the coffee table over just enough so that the sharp corner was sticking into his room instead of behind the wall, and just under that corner of the table was a block he desperately wanted. Putting two and two together, I realized he had repeatedly hit the middle of his forehead on the point in pursuit of the block. Strike one.
Being the sympathetic and wise mother that I am, I brought Little Two into our room and shut the door to protect him from the steep stairs which were just on the other side. My back was literally turned for 5 seconds, but when I looked back, the door was open and all I saw was one of Little Two's feet ... briefly. Little Two was now doing the luge head first (I guess that makes it the skeleton) down our stairs, heading right for the wall and front door. My heart stopped and I froze as I watched him fall/bounce down and then finally flip onto his back at the bottom. Strike Two and it was only ten o'clock in the morning.
As I held my screaming little one (while thanking God he was screaming and moving), it occurred to me that even though it was my fault Little Two did the skeleton down the stairs and had bruises on his forehead, he still wanted and needed comfort from me. Often times I hear people talking about how being a parent has allowed them to understand how much God loves us ... that is very true and I, too, have experienced that ... but in this moment, while Little Two was holding on to me, I felt this unconditional love completely free from judgment that I most definitely did not deserve that morning. In that moment I was not the parent loving my little ones as God loves us; instead, I was the imperfect little one receiving the perfect loving kindness God bestows on us.
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