My Little Miracles

From "Love You Forever", by Robert Munsch
Little C was around 6 months old when we discovered that after we give him his last feeding for the night, we can leave him in his crib and he'll fall asleep by himself. Because of this, I don't get many chances to have him fall asleep in my arms, as I did with J. But there are some nights, when he would enjoy being lulled to sleep cuddled in the rocking chair and last night was one of those special nights.

Last night, I gave Little C his bottle and sat with him in the rocking chair. I sang him the same discordant lullabies that used to lull J to sleep, a mixture of well-known songs, and some gibberish I make up for my boys. I always loved putting my children to sleep. It was the best time of the day for me, a quiet, peaceful time, just me and my babies.

When Little C fell asleep, I stayed there for a while, just relishing the feel of his growing body cuddled against me, his warm little foot cradled in my hand. I rested my cheek against his head and breathed in that special little boy smell that was so unique to my sons, and I did something that I haven't done in a while. I prayed.

I expressed my thanks for this baby, this human being, that I have in my arms, for the privilege and honor of being his mother. I said my thanks for every day that he wakes up healthy and free from illness, for every smile and laugh, for all his milestones and for all that he is. I asked for guidance and patience, because I am not perfect, and my son deserves the best. I shared my fears of failing him, and asked for help to be the best person I can be, so that I can be the mother he deserves. But what I did not ask for was more love to give, because I already had that in abundance.

When I look at my sons, I see little miracles. I see little people, who were formed from specks of nothing and groups of cells, who grew gradually inside my womb, to become functional human beings who walk and talk and think and feel and love. Every new skill they learn is amazing for me, even when it's the second time around with Little C. The way my sons have learned to roll over, crawl, sound out words, or do things for themselves, is nothing short of magical for me.

When I look at them, I think, these boys could not have appeared out of nowhere. They could not have been created by random chance. And oh, how beautifully they were created! Their little arms and legs are mini replicas of mine and their father's. When they were tiny babies, I looked at their fingers and toes and I was fascinated by how wonderfully they were formed, tiny little versions of the same things I had on my own hands and feet.

How can I look at them and not see them as blessings, given to me despite my unworthiness and my imperfections? How can I look at them and not see them as reinforcement of my faith in something or someone greater than myself, who has the power to create something as beautiful as a human being?

When I look at my children, I am humbled. I know that they are gifts, given to me for an indefinite period of time, but mine to care for, to love and to guide in the ways of the world. I don't know what I've done to deserve them, because I am not a perfect person, and I'm most certainly not a perfect mother. But I am the only mother they will have, and for them, I am perfect. They say that only a parent can feel unconditional love, but now, I know that's not true, because I know my children love me unconditionally. They look at me and they do not see my imperfections and my failings. To them, I am just Mommy. I am not too thin or too fat or too light or too dark or too much of anything or too little. I am just what I should be, because I am just what they need.

My sense of religion, not faith, is fluid at best. I believe that there is something greater than me, that has control over my life, but not my choices. This something, or someone, has a greater understanding of why things happen the way they do, the good, the bad and all that happens in between. I know that I am not smart enough to understand, so I will not even bother to try. All I know is that there is something out there. It's not something I like to give a name to, or define, because on most days, I can't. I simply prefer to say that while I am not religious, I am spiritual and I am faithful. My faith is simple, but it is strong, and when I look at my sons, all that I believe in is living and breathing, right in front of me, and I feel blessed.

With sons such as mine, how can I not be?

A happy day to you!


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