Monday, July 21, 2014

And then my heart skips a beat.

Nearly 7 hours I spent chasing you around this weekend. 

Nearly 7 hours I spent in my Heaven this weekend. 

You’re no more than 3 ½ feet tall, but you pack the energy of a Dalmatian puppy.  At first, there are only a couple of you.  Before I know it, there are more than 30 of you, and I no longer have thoughts of my own inside my head.

And then my heart skips a beat.

One minute, you’re running at me full-speed to see if you can knock me on my back from sitting position.  Your twin follows so closely that all I can do is roll backwards and try to protect all of our heads from hitting the slightly carpeted, cement floor.  How many times did we play that game?  Each time ending in a sea of giggles and more cries for, “Again!”

And then my heart skips a beat.

The next minute, I have two of your other friends on my lap in hysterics.  “Why are they crying?” one of you asks.  “Because they miss their mommies,” which just makes the screams even louder.

And then my heart skips a beat.

Some of you hold my hand, cuddle in my lap, or lay your head in my lap and let me scratch your back while we watch our lesson.
And then my heart skips a beat.

Some of you can’t sit still long enough to learn the 10-word Bible verse for the week.  However, when the worship music starts, you’re the first to grab my hands and let me twirl you in circles.

And then my heart skips a beat.

As I hold one of you and try to soften the pain of your most recent fall, another of you walks up and places your hand on his knee as if to say, “It’s okay.  Sometimes, I fall, too.”

And then my heart skips a beat.

I look over and see one of you cuddled up with my teenage girl in our jungle gym “doing nothing” as I later found out was your plan for the hour.
 And then my heart skips a beat.

“Do you want to go color?” I ask one of you.  “Are you going to come with me?” is your reply.

And then my heart skips a beat.

As we color, a different friend turns to me and says, “How’s this, Mommy?”

And then my heart skips a beat.

Your parents come quickly and take you home with them.  Some of you remember to give me hugs, but I can still feel the gentle touch of each of you on my arm or in my hand.

And then my heart skips a beat.
We pick-up the room, shut off the lights, and head towards our home.  Me with empty arms.  Without one of you for myself.

And then my heart skips a beat.

Then, I remind myself that we will do this all over again in one more week.

And then my heart skips a beat.

2 comments:

  1. Oh Laura. Darn it, you made me cry! I remember feeling this way several years ago. I have pictures of me holding and cuddling with babies/little ones who belong to friends and family...and I remember an overwhelming sense of longing. I know one day soon your arms will be full with baby(ies) of your own, but my heart aches for you and this long journey. Not many women are able to go through this journey and keep their hearts as open as yours. I am so glad you have this group of little ones to love on right now. Sending both of you guys hugs from Tx. Xoxoxo

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    Replies
    1. Yay!...not that I made you cry, but that I evoked emotion in someone. :) Hope that makes sense.

      I, too, have faith that someday soon, I will have my arms full of babies. At least, I hope it’s soon. :) For now, these cuties are going to have to let me love all over them. I just wish I could spread some of my love to your sweet girls more often.

      Sending you hugs right back. Love you!

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