Waiting and Wishing

“They grow up so fast.”

I used to hear that all the time. I found myself reciting the cliché after I became a mom.

I had an easy pregnancy. Mild nausea and fatigue were my biggest foes. Once I crossed over into my second trimester and saw my belly had popped, it hit me. I was really having a baby.

I had prepared thoroughly for my imminent bundle of joy. The nursery was perfect. I had more clothes, diapers, and toys than a department store. Then, I just waited. The moment I held my son for the first time, I realized he was worth the wait. My stay at the hospital was magical. The nursing staff treated me like a queen while I kicked back and relaxed in the largest private suite available. My son had barely cried. He had slept like an angel. And let’s not forget, he was stinking adorable.

Then I went home.

The picturesque movie of motherhood turned into a horror flick.

Chad and I walked through the door, and as soon as I set down the car seat, Lucas started crying. Screaming, actually. Fifteen years later and I can still hear that high-pitched shrill. But he wasn’t the only one shedding tears. The pamphlets the nurses had given me on postpartum depression and hormones, the ones I had chucked in the garbage because I said, “That won’t happen to me,” were suddenly mocking me.

Weeks passed, and I wasn’t getting any better. My entire world had flipped upside down. All I wanted was my old life back. That wasn’t going to happen. So, I tried to fast-forward time and waited for the day when Lucas would sit up on his own. Then life would be better. Waited for him to crawl. Then life would be better. Waited for him to walk. Then life would be better. Waited for him to speak in coherent sentences. Then life would be better. See the pattern? I had wished away moments to get to better ones. Unfortunately, I missed out on a lot along the way.

Once I had stopped wishing and waiting for motherhood to be easier, I found so much joy in that little munchkin with crazy, curly hair and chipmunk cheeks. And his smile. He was always smiling. Laughing and hugging me like I was his best friend, next to his giant Winnie the Pooh.

Watching Lucas grow into a young man makes my motherly heart beat with pride. He continues to amaze me. He has a love for God, and his compassion and kindness toward others warm my heart. He’s a talented classical pianist, which still makes me wonder where that came from because Chad and I don’t have a musical bone in our bodies. We can’t clap on beat and our voices, well, let’s just say we sing quietly in church.

I have to remind myself that Lucas isn’t my “little” boy. One of the hardest parts of motherhood is transition. It’s not just your child graduating to another stage, it’s you, too.

Kids. They grow up so fast.