Perhaps it was the blueberry handprint on the white doorway yesterday
when I realized it. Or the box of dry spaghetti
that got dumped all over the floor for a second time, mainly because I wanted
to do the dishes and thought it would keep him busy for a few more minutes.
Somewhere over the course of the last 15 months I have
learned patience. I have never ever been
patient. My husband says he can feel my
impatience from across a room. That I
radiate it. I am never late unless it’s
something I don’t want to attend. I am
chronically early. I can’t wait longer than
2 mins from onset of Hunger to when I eat.
I use to cry over spilt everything.
I am/was really almost a brat when it comes to when I want and need
things. But then I had Alden and so much
shifted.
Do you know how much patience it takes to put a child in a car
seat? How about a child in a car seat
when they don’t want to be in the car seat, and the strap is twisted and its 0
degrees out and really you just want to get him in there and go turn on the
music and drink some lukewarm coffee.
Do you know how much patience it takes to be STARVING to
death because you just fed your baby like one hundred times at night (that’s
one hundred times of something poking and prodding at you, and you rearranging
your body and letting your right arm go numb) but getting up and making sure
his sippy cup is filled and clean and he has snack ready for when he wakes up
(please just five mins of letting me eat a muffin alone little one).
Do you know what patience is when you are BEYOND TIRED after
not sleeping because the whole family had a stomach virus, and you were
catching puke in your hands and shirt. But he’s okay now and you are feverish
but he wants to read GOODNIGHT GORRILLA for the one billionth time. And you do,
and you do all the voices because he wants the voices and can tell if you aren’t
into it.
Patience is: Saying no for the billionth time when he tries
to put his hands in the toilet, singing itsy bitsy and made up songs in the car
so he won’t cry, carrying him in the Ergo on a walk while your back hurts and
you shove the boob in his mouth so he calms down so you can try to suck it up
and ENJOY the 30 mins of quiet and look at trees and the ocean and try to remember
who you are for a minute. It’s not
having a third drink when you really want one, its wiping blue hands and faces,
its giving your body and mind over to another. It’s knowing you would give your
life for your child’s in a heartbeat, less than a heartbeat. Patience is what a Mother is. And I think a Dad too—but this one goes out
to the Moms.
Patience is Love unconditionally. And Love is watching the blueberry covered
smile look up at me and say Mama, or give me a hug and a MWAH. Watching him learn something every day, and
just being amazed by it. Holding a hand
as you walk and realizing you feel light with Love. Having his giggle make me
cry.
Thanks for the Patience little man, and for the Love.
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