Daydreams

I really, really like having these kids.  I just love being a mom.  I want to say that this was what I always dreamed about motherhood, but I can't. 

You see, my daydreams about motherhood involved six children, Kevin, Kimberly, Ryan, Ashley, and the twins (a boy whose name I can't recall) and Carissa.  The reason I had six kids was 1.) I really liked six names and wanted to use them up and 2.) I needed kids with different shades of my brown hair.  Kevin was my dark-haired son.  Kimberly had dark brown hair as well.  Ashley and Ryan had light brown hair.  And the twins?  They were just babies.  They didn't really have hair . . .just peach fuzz.  I never imagined a dad . . . he must have been at work.  I never ever imagined taking care of the babies . . . they were just cute, fat placeholders.  My visions were mainly of my older children lined up in first day of school clothes with Disney character backpacks on, thick combed hair, and smiles on their faces.  They didn't really talk.  They never made messes.  I never had to feed them.  I just looked through catalogs at how I would decorate their rooms.  And I took them trick-or-treating by pulling a wagon around the neighborhood (the oldest three would walk, the youngest three would sit in the wagon).  These kids never fought, never screamed, never had trouble going to sleep, never woke up screaming from sleep.  And always looked picture perfect. 

Right now I have Hallie and Claire.  Their names certainly weren't on my name list.  And Hallie's blond hair . . . never in my wildest dreams.  My real kids have well coiffed hair from about 10am until 10:20 when Claire rips out her bows or Hallie ruffles her braids by rolling in blankets.  I have to change at least six diapers a day and I have to feed them and work really hard to get their rooms even close to orderly (and nowhere near catalog worthy).  They smile a lot but they scream and cry a lot too.  And the older one is smart as a whip and knows how to reason and talk back a little. 

But they have loads of personality.  The love me and think I am as pretty as any princess.  They gush "Mommy" with such adoration when they wake up from their naps and they hug with gusto as they wrap their arms around my neck and lay their heads on my shoulder.  They delight when a dog barks or when a bird is in the backyard.  Their eyes are so expressive and their energy brings such an alive spirit to our home.   

These two bring joy that my thirteen-year-old imagination could never comprehend.  In fact, I never imagined being joyful with my pretend family, only being proud of how perfect they were.  These kids keep me so busy I barely even have the chance to reflect on how proud I am of them.  All I know is they bring me joy.

And the dirty work involved in parenting is what gets you to that joyful level. Take for instance my newborn Claire.  She was so content during the day and so unsettled during the night those first weeks of her life.  I would do everything I could think of those nights and just pray with all my strength that she could just fall asleep.  One night, I was singing to her, terrified that the screaming onslaught would begin.  As I sang her her lullabies I thought "Does she even know me?  Does she even care that I am singing?"  An overwhelming feeling of assurance and the thought came to me "This is how you will bond.  This investment now is what will make her love you and make her calm as she is older."  Cut to fifteen months later, and isn't it the truth?  That little one loves to be held, and stroked, and sung to.  I know she feels safe and protected and loved.  And I know she loves me.

So, is parenting what I imagined?  No way, because I didn't know what to imagine.  Are these two kids better than I ever could have imagined?  For sure.  They are better than my best dreams because not even my dreams could have taken me here.