If you've got young ones...

This was emailed to me, I thought it was worth reading. Hope you all find encouragment too!
Ginger


This column is for mothers of infants and toddlers.> I am going to attempt to> do something I never thought I'd do: I'm going to> empathize while not in> your situation. My hope is that it is all so fresh> in my memory that I can> have both perspective and relevance.> > What you are doing, what you are living, is very> difficult. It is physically> exhausting. It is emotionally and spiritually> challenging. An infant is> dependent on you for everything. It doesn't get much> more daunting: there is> another human being who needs you for his very life.> Your life is not your> own at all. You must answer the call (the cry) of> that baby, regardless of> what you have planned. This is dying to self in a> very pure sense of the> phrase. And you want to be with him. You ache for> him. When he is not with> you, a certain sense of restlessness edges its way> into your consciousness,> and you are not at complete peace.> > If you are so blessed that you have a toddler at the> same time, you wrestle> with your emotions. Your former baby seems so big> and, as you settle to> nurse your baby and enjoy some quiet gazing time,> you try desperately to> push away the feeling that the great, lumbering> toddler barreling her way> toward you is an intruder. Your gaze shifts to her> eyes, and there you see> the baby she was and still is, and you know that you> are being stretched in> ways you never could have imagined.> > This all might be challenge enough if you could just> hunker down in your own> home and take care of your children for the next> three years; but society> requires that you go out - at least into the> marketplace. So you juggle nap> schedules and feeding schedules and snowsuits and> carseats. Just an aside> about carseats: I have literally had nightmares> about installing carseats.> These were not dreams that I had done it wrong or> that there had been some> tragedy. In my dreams I am simply exhausted,> struggling with getting the> thing latched into the seat of the car and then> getting my baby latched into> the carseat. I'm fairly certain anyone else who has> ever had four of these> mechanical challenges lined up in her van has had> similar dreams. It's the> details that overwhelm you, drain you, distract you> from the nobility of it> all. > > You will survive. And here is the promise: if you> pray your way through this> time, if you implore the Lord at every turn, if you> ask Him to take this day> and this time and help you to give Him something> beautiful, you will grow in> ways unimagined. And the day will come when no one> is under two years old.> You will - with no one on your lap - look at your> children playing> contentedly together without you. And you will sigh.> Maybe, like me, you> will feel your arms are uncomfortably empty, and you> will pray that you can> hold a baby just once more. Or maybe, you will sense> that you are ready to> pass with your children to the next stage.> > This is the place where nearly two decades of> mothering babies grants me the> indulgence of sharing what I would have done> differently. I would have had> far fewer obligations outside my home. Now, I see> that there is plenty of> time for those, and that it is much simpler to> pursue outside interests> without a baby at my breast. I wish I'd spent a> little more time just> sitting with that baby instead of trying to "do it> all."> > I wish I'd quieted the voices telling me that my> house had to look a certain> way. I look around now and I recognize that those> houses that have "that> look" don't have these children. Rarely are there a> perfectly-kept house and> a baby and a toddler under one roof. Don't listen to> the voices that tell> you that it can be done. It should not be done. I> wish I hadn't spent 16> years apologizing for the mess. Just shoot for "good> enough." Cling to lower> standards and higher goals.> > I wish I'd taken more pictures, shot more video and> kept better journals. I> console myself with the knowledge that my children> have these columns to> read. They'll know at least as much about their> childhoods as you do.> > I wish I could have recognized that I would not be> so tired forever, that I> would not be standing in the shallow end of the pool> every summer for the> rest of my life, that I would not always have a baby> in my bed (or my bath> or my lap). If I could have seen how short this> season is (even if mine was> relatively long), I would have savored it all the> more.> > And I wish I had thanked Him more. I prayed so hard.> I asked for help. But I> didn't thank Him nearly enough. I didn't thank Him> often enough for the> sweet smell of a newborn, for the dimples around> pudgy elbows and wrists,> for the softening of my heart, for the stretching of> my patience, for the> paradoxical simplicity of it all. A baby is a pure,> innocent, beautiful> embodiment of love. And his mother has the distinct> privilege, the> unparalleled joy, of watching love grow. Don't> blink. You'll miss it.