Updated: May 6
I just finished bidding my fourth baby goodnight.
In fact, tonight was approximately my 2,731st time to tuck my children into bed.
Arguably my least favorite thing of the day. There is a lot of bidding that starts happening when bed time draws near. Suddenly someone feels sick, or has a broken leg, or is starving, or needs a drink, or needs to poop, or needs to pee, or needs another drink, etc.
And then there is wordless, Jules. She cries. She babbles mama and dada. She smiles and takes all of her older sisters like a champ, day in and day out.
So I rock her, while giving her a bottle and she holds her favorite little owl lovey. I then lay her down after her bottle, when she is generally awake. She chatters and rolls around and stands up, sits down, lays down, and then eventually starts crying for me or daddy to come get her.
I know she's going to do it. She knows she's going to do it. Then she does do it. She cries out for an encore snuggle-sesh, and I happily oblige.
She doesn't trash talk me. She doesn't fight me to go back down after her five minute encore. And I know from experience this season goes by way too fast.
Somewhere deep down inside I can't help but relate to her.
How many times do I forget my seedling of faith and forget the strength of God in me and forget the bigger picture, and I come crying back to my Heavenly Father, just needing another five-minute pep talk and re-lacing of my shoes? How infantile and how freeing?
I must grow up only to realize the embrace of my daddy was what I needed all along. And I don't write that lightly.
Some day I will look back on this time of Covid-19 and be thankful for the hundreds of rounds of Encore! that it cleared up my schedule to behold.
And I trust you Lord, for all the things I just don't understand, that is not my business to really ever get to know; the secret belongs to the artist and the grandeur of the master piece, of which we cry Encore!, after every single show.
I must go friends, I hear someone calling my name.
Mama. Mama. Mama.