I'm finally able to look backwards through my childhood, and excavating my basement is reminding me non-stop of what I need/want/pray for in my lifetime. Back from Open Gym today, I was surrounded by so many young moms who were in that familiar "getting to know ourselves" phase.
I know myself so well that I'm leaping painfully head first into "I think I'm done having chil'ren" land. It's not that the spit-filled daybibs couldn't lure me back, that every painful grunt of "back here AGAIN" carseat lugging and goofball on the hip...
It's enough to just wait for the grandchildren, and guide my current rugrats forward into secure adulthood. That hand. The boring hand that makes Stouffers an easier dinner until I can master more recipes, that forces me to just love without stopping, no matter what, when or why God insists it's the only plan.
Must've chosen me for SOME reason, I keep walking through the pain because I can.
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