Before I was a Mom

I got this lovely poem from a friend and I want to share it with all the moms out there.

Before I was a Mom,
I never tripped over toys
or forgot words to a lullaby.
I didn't worry whether or not
my plants were poisonous.
I never thought about immunizations.

Before I was a Mom,
I had never been puked on.
Pooped on.
Chewed on.
Peed on.
I had complete control of my mind
and my thoughts.
I slept all night.

Before I was a Mom,
I never held down a screaming child
so doctors could do tests.
Or give shots.
I never looked into teary eyes and cried.
I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin.
I never sat up late hours at night
watching a baby sleep.

Before I was a Mom,
I never held a sleeping baby just because
I didn't want to put her down.
I never felt my heart break into a million pieces
when I couldn't stop the hurt.
I never knew that something so small
could affect my life so much.
I never knew that I could love someone so much.
I never knew I would love being a Mom.

Before I was a Mom,
I didn't know the feeling of
having my heart outside my body.
I didn't know how special it could feel
to feed a hungry baby.
I didn't know that bond
between a mother and her child.
I didn't know that something so small
could make me feel so important and happy.

Before I was a Mom,
I had never gotten up in the middle of the night
every 10 minutes to make sure all was okay.
I had never known the warmth,
the joy,
the love,
the heartache,
the wonderment
or the satisfaction of being a Mom.
I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much,
before I was a Mom.

Sleep Well Little Angel

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My friend’s baby died over the weekend. It was the saddest thing ever. I have learnt in such moments not to give empty placates, how could I possibly understand if I have never gone through the pain of losing my baby, what can I possibly say? In moments like that the best thing to do is just be there and say nothing. Their little girl was a flower, pleasant and happy. She wasn’t even very ill. I guess we will never truly understand some things this side of heaven. Yet her brief life and death spoke to me profoundly.

The thing her life taught me is that we are never too young to make an impact. From the faces of those gathered in her home, you could read the grief, the feeling of lose. She was here a little while, but she was here. It made me wonder how much impact some of us leave, having been here and yet never really being felt. Worse still, how many people go through life feeling and thinking that they don’t matter? How many people do we know and allow to move on never knowing how much they mean to us until it is too late?

I look at my own children and realize that our time together is actually borrowed time. There are no guarantees how long I have with them. Am I making the most of our time together or am I so stuck in the future that I do not have time to enjoy today? A future of which I have no guarantee? Life and people are a gift. Gifts we can chose to honor and make the most of, or gifts we can take for granted until it is too late. My friends loved their baby girl; they spent lots of time with her and created a bank of memories that they will have to hold on to. They numbered their days well.

When I got home the night after that first meeting, I went straight to my sons’ room. There they were sprawled all over their beds. I remembered all the fights we had had earlier and the numerous times I gave it to them over one issue or the other. All of a sudden that was not so important. I realized that our relationship needed to be defined by so much more than rules and regulations. As I hugged them, I prayed that God would continually remind me, to make the most of our days together. To number our days well.