I typed the title of this post and realized I’m turning into that mom.
The one who writes a blog entry about her child being three months old. (But, c’mon. If you follow me on Facebook or Instagram this isn’t news to you)
But, things are getting pretty exciting around here. There’s lots of new sounds and expressions; Little man is fully engaging his eyebrows in conversation now. He loves apple juice and has some favorite toys.
He is also keeping me on my toes. Just when we were getting a solid six hours of sleep a night, he started Green-Hulking his way out of my fabulous Aiden & Anais swaddle at about hour two. It all goes down hill from there, his arms flail about and he slaps the passie out of his mouth across the crib. And then, he’s ticked.
After a few nights of unsuccessfully attempting to hog-tie him back into his cozy swaddle, I seriously considered searching the internet for a course in baby Ninjutsu so I could outmaneuver this kid.
It has rocked my world a bit trying to keep up with his changing needs. Just when I feel totally in synch with him, understanding his little sounds and baby-babble-coded-requests, something changes and I’m back at square one trying to figure him out all over again.
And I’m really starting to get it. You’ve all heard it; Becoming a parent can reveal a lot about God’s character. In fact, I had become a little annoyed by the parenting anecdotes in sermons over the last few years (when you’ve attended as many adoption conferences as we have- you hear that stuff a lot).
But there I was on the floor of my son’s room in dim-blue-light with one arm wrapped snuggly, desperately attempting to catch the other while keeping his passie secure…
“I know what you need.Why won’t you let me give it to you?” And before all the words even left my tongue I got it.
Sitting back on my heels, I hung my head and let out the breath I’d been holding.
How many times has this been me? A million. How long do I have to flail my arms and reject His help before I ultimately have nowhere else to turn but His comfort? Days. Months. Years.
“Little dude. You and me- we’re not that different.”
I gave up on the swaddle and scooped baby boy up. Tucked tight between my chest and arms, as frustration was replaced with sympathy.
“I hate it when I’m not happy too”
And we rocked. And rocked. And rocked.
So, yes. I’m that mom writing about her son turing three months old. About a few new sounds and changing sleep patterns.
And I have more bad news. I’m also that mom who is embracing the reality that God is revealing more about who He is and how He loves through being a parent.
Happy 3 Month Birthday Eli (and Mommy who still has a lot to learn)!
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We can’t post his face online until May.