Caleb has managed to get his first tooth, go from a prone to an upright position by himself, and start crawling all in one weekend. I love watching the changes, but today I just want to cry. He’s getting so big. And that cheeky grin of his . . . Why isn’t his daddy here to see this?
I can see us, heading home from somewhere. I’ve got the baby, Dan has the next one up, there’s a diaper bag somewhere as well as various other children hanging on to our legs, free hands, and each other. Dan and I are flirting, still free to make suggestive comments as the kids aren’t old enough to understand them yet, and making plans for a movie night. The lawn needs mowed, dishes need cleaned up, laundry gotten off the line, kids put to bed, but we are content to chatter away, telling each other about the events of our day. If we work while we talk we can get the important stuff done without even realizing that we are working. The rest of it can wait. Time together is more important.
Now I stare silently at that empty place at the table, the kids are all clamoring for attention and I’m only one person. That list is still there only now it all falls to me and there is nothing to distract me. I’ve lost my excuse for putting it off until tomorrow. Movie nights are pointless and empty. Flirting is difficult to do by yourself and that extra set of arms and legs for the kids to hang on is gone, meaning that all of them are trying to hang on me. It makes me think of that passage in Ecclesiastes where it talks about two being better than one. The weight of this burden was so much easier to bear with another pair of shoulders helping to carry the load. I miss those shoulders. What I wouldn’t give to have those arms wrapped around me again, that solid chest to cry on, that cheek resting on my hair, that love surrounding me and letting me know that it will be o.k. Will I ever be whole again?