Then I Remembered

I got up last night after being awoken for the 27th time with boney knees shoved into my side, me hanging on to the last piece of mattress I could call my own and wondering exactly how someone so small could take up so much room on a king sized bed. I wandered sleepily to the couch and then I remembered the first 19 days of his life. I remembered how it felt to wonder if my child would win the fight for his life or if I would get the chance to hold him before he should lose it and I promptly crawled back onto my little space of mattress and threw my arms around him.

I came into the living room this morning after asking him to finish his breakfast for the 40th time ready to explode at the amount of oatmeal left in his bowl. And then I remembered the first time I got to feed my child over 40 days after his birth and being so thankful we had made it that far. I turned off the TV and took the time to sit down next to him and helped him finish his breakfast.

I walked through the house picking up the articles of clothing thrown in the exact spot they were shed, wishing I had the means to hire a maid. And then I remembered putting him in his first premie clothes and seeing how tiny they were in my hands and how they swallowed him whole. And I realized how picking up after him would never mean the same to anyone else.

Many times I get frustrated, and impatient, and exasperated. Being a mother isn't always glamorous and I don't very often get the thank you's I feel I deserve, but then I always remember. I remember how I almost didn't get this opportunity and I realize that I've been given more blessings than any one person deserves.