Little Evidences

The end of the day can be relieving some days. It's a nice time for me to get things done and have some R&R. Often times the last thing I want to do is clean, but more often than not it's exactly what I need to do in order to keep my house from looking like a disaster zone.

Much of my cleaning now encompasses activities done with William throughout the day.

Since he was born eight months ago, I haven't stopped feeling that warm pride surge in my heart when I look about my house and see the small evidences that he's in my life. The once pile of books now scattered across the floor, the broken candle stick I didn't put away before he found it, the poopy diapers that need to be placed in the toxic waste basket (aka dumpster), the necklace coated in drool because it was the one thing to keep him happy and interested.

Tonight while getting ready for bed, I looked into our tub to see his toys and bath soap laying exactly where he had left them, his toys in a heaping mess by the couch, his bib laying on his high chair tray; I felt my heart melt all over.

I often wonder how I'm so lucky. How did I get to be the mother of such a sweet boy? My heart thrills at the blessing it is to be a mother, messes and all.

It's easy to get caught up in the mundane monotony of life, but if I wasn't here at the end of the day cleaning up these messes, what else would I be doing, and what miracles would I be missing out on?

I love the evidences that I am a mother. I love the slew of toys sitting on my living room floor. I love the messy bib sitting on the tray waiting to be cleaned. I love the books riddled with rhymes and silly pictures.

Most of all I love the baby who plays with the toys. I love the baby who smears the food on the crafted bib. I love the baby who reaches for the books with the silly pictures and rhymes.

I love the baby who made me a mother, who fills my life with hope, joy, and purpose.

My heart is smitten.