My oldest turned 7 on Sunday.
Somehow the tiny babe I grew in my own body, and carried in my arms, is now getting too heavy for me to hold. The hours that used to drag by slowly have turned into years that are slipping away.
The days are full to the brim, and sometimes the day ends with too many to-do’s still undone. There is noise in every corner. The world of adulthood is full of noise that is so hard to turn off.
I walked by his room mid morning, and he was standing in the pile of birthday balloons I’d left on his floor while he slept. He just stood there, gently tapping the balloon up into the air. Over and over. Every now and then his lips curled into a smile as he watched the balloon fly, and then come back down. After a while, he noticed me standing there, and he whispered.
“Mom. Watch this!”
So we watched together. We watched a balloon fly into the air and come back down. Over and over.
In his eyes, those eyes that are bluer that are bluer than the sky, there was such wonder.
There was no noise in his heart. He was here, in the present, not thinking about what’s next, only what is now.
This moment will pass, probably quickly. He’ll be back to ninjas and Star Wars, soccer, and mud. I’ll be back to the noise of adult life, and all the responsibilities that are mine.
The appointments, the papers, the bills, the floors, the mountains of laundry and endless meals – they will be there. They must be done.
But for now – I will watch. I will feel what he feels, and our hearts will be quiet together.
These years of motherhood have shaped my heart, while I am shaping theirs. They are teaching me the importance of slowing down, making time count, no matter how long or short it is. They remind me to watch the world with wonder, to see it it with new eyes, and to never forget what it feels like to make a balloon fly.
On my to-do list today:
“Leave room for wonder.”