I can hardly believe that today you are 4 months old! Right now you are taking your morning nap (let’s pretend for this post that we actually have some sort of schedule and routine) and I should be getting ready for the day (after all, it is already 10:30am). But today, this is more important.
I was just watching you sleep (trust me, it’s not creepy if it’s your mom doing it) and was in awe [again] of your sweet features…your little button nose, your expressive hair, your chunky thighs…I love every bit of you. You. Melt. My. Heart. Every time you coo along with me when I sing you a lullaby, my heart melts to the floor in a quivering mess. When you hold my hand as I feed you your bottle I shake my head in wonder at you. When my pathetic attempts to make you smile succeed and your whole face lights up, I feel like my heart could jump out of my chest.
And yet, I think it’s important for you to know that I have cried more in the last 4 months than I have in my whole life. Here are a few weepy moments that have stood out:
I cried the second you were in my arms for the first time. I was immediately overjoyed at the privilege of being your mom. You were so perfectly formed, so dependent, so calm and gentle…Those tears were because I was so in love.
I cried Christmas morning. I was downstairs feeding you while the rest of the family was upstairs eating brunch and it hit me. My life will never be the same. This is only the very beginning of the rest of my life of putting you first. I can no longer be selfish, because you are now more important to me than myself. And that’s a hard truth to face!
I cried Christmas evening. Actually, I was sobbing. Our little family of 3 was sitting on the couch, in the glow of the Christmas lights. Your poor dad was now learning to ask, “Are you sad? happy? angry? hormones?…” This evening it was pure joy. Since you were born so close to Christmas, the true meaning of Christmas was so obvious to me this year. I was so overjoyed to celebrate not only your beautiful life, but the birth of Jesus Christ, our Savior.
I cried when you were hospitalized at 6 weeks for failure to gain weight…all because of me. I was not enough for you because I couldn’t make enough food for you, and it broke my heart. I felt so inadequate. It hit me again that I couldn’t do this on my own. And then you had to be on oxygen for 6 weeks. I am not ultimately in control of what happens to you. And that is terrifying…and also somehow freeing.
Son, the biggest thing you’re teaching me is that I cannot do this. I cannot be the best mom. I am human and I am selfish. I look for the easy way out of things, I get angry, I sometimes want a week of vacation from being your mom…But you’re pointing me to the beauty of the gospel: I cannot do this, but that’s okay because Jesus already has. I cannot earn your love or God’s love, because I am a rotten sinner. But, my son, GRACE has given us what we don’t deserve. God loves us because of who we are and what Jesus did for us on the cross, not because of anything we have done or will do.
So, son, I will work hard to love you the best I can, but when I fail, will you forgive me? When sin rears its ugly head, can we, as a family, look to the cross? Can you keep reminding me how impossible it is for me to do life apart from Christ? (I’ll try to keep being grateful for these tough lessons learned)
Thank you for the past four months. Thank you for being who God made you to be. And thank you for teaching me more than I thought you could as a baby. Oh, and thank you also for having the most fabulous hair…and the chunkiest of thighs…and eyes that dazzle…and the sweetest giggle.
A fellow sinner saved by grace, through faith, in Christ