I’m writing this while sitting outside on our deck, in a chair gifted to me on Mother’s Day a couple years ago. My legs are propped up on the other chair, a pillow underneath for my bare ankles. Although rain was forecasted for today it’s all blue skies, mid-70s, idyllic spring weather. Whenever a soft, warm wind blows, little white petals rain all over the yard.
All three kids are playing nicely together, without me. They’re swinging on the swings, going up ladders and down slides, playing in the sandbox, coloring stones with chalk, barefoot.
I think back to last spring. And the spring before. And the spring before that.
Yes, in some ways, it gets harder.
But in many ways, it also gets easier.
Part of me feels guilty. Sitting here. Not in a cubicle. Not pumping milk. Not folding laundry. Not spooning baby food into a mouth. Not putting anyone into timeout.
But a bigger part of me feels deserving.
Two years ago I remember thinking, someday.
Today is someday.
It happens! It really does happen.
Grateful.
“No matter how long the winter, spring is sure to follow.”—Proverb
