Thursday, April 30, 2015

Is this real?

Sometimes I get hit with a forceful feeling of wonder.  The *knock you off your feet, sit down and gather yourself* kind of forceful. I look at them and I just can't believe that they are mine.  That I made them.  That they call me "Mommy."


It happens in the simplest moments.


Big sister walking past my office window with her preschool class, eyes searching for me, and lighting up as they find mine. She mouths “Hi Mommy!” and I think, that’s MY girl.
                          

Tiptoeing into their rooms on my way to bed to give one last kiss goodnight to angelic sleeping faces, and breathe them in.


            A big sister that can’t get enough of her baby sister, ever.



I wonder, is this real?!  

.....


 I don't always feel my true age (which is on the precipice of 30 somehow, good grief).  I generally think I am younger than my birth certificate claims I am.  Usually that age lands around 25, but at times it's younger.  When I bury my head in my own mama's neck and smell her wonderful smell, I feel much smaller, not like an adult, that's for sure.


When did I become an adult? I'm a MOM. And these two independent, book loving, confident, beautifully perfect little girls, are MINE. How did that happen? When did that happen?


I've been in the mushy brain club for 4 years now.  Time seems to blend together -- the days, months, years, somehow seem endless, immeasurably linked and intertwined.


But then I think-- 4 years, is that all?! I can hardly remember my life without them, it seems like a movie I watched, a story I know... but not my story.  Surely my story begins and ends with them.  When I think back to times of my life when they weren't here yet, I find myself wondering where they were that day, what I did with them.  My mom tells a story of driving to the hospital the night she was in labor with me, and wondering where I was while she was in the hospital... birthing me. And I get it.  I absolutely get it.




These precious little people.  They change it all.  The meaning, the purpose, the desire to achieve and do the best damn job I can for them -- they change it all. 

 


Sometimes it feels so big and unfathomable, I just have to bask in the wonder of it.  




Is this real?! 


Even amidst all the chaos, the frustration, the exhaustion, and the repetition, I have to pinch myself.  And it is real. It's my real.


And it's delightful.



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