So I'm putting all three boys to bed tonight so Shaun could have a break. That means laying in the middle of their double bed with Drew on my left, Isaiah on my right, Jaden nursing in my arms.
We had a little conversation before they fell asleep. I asked Drew if there was any way I could be a better mommy to him. He said no he liked how I am. Then he said, "Oh wait, I have an idea! You could clean up my toys for me!" I explained to him that sometimes I'd love to do that for him, but that my job as his mommy is to teach him things, and that cleaning up his toys teaches him to take care of what he has, be responsible, be organized, and complete tasks. He actually seemed to really understand that. Then I asked Isaiah. He said he liked me too. It was a really sweet little moment laying in the dark in their bedroom and having this serious conversation. When we were done talking I gave them both a kiss and told them to go to sleep.
Once they were sleeping peacefully I laid there listening to the sound of their breathing. One sighing in his sleep. One breathing deep and slow. And one making the little squeaking newborn sounds in between his tiny puffs of air. And My heart experienced that squeezing, breaking, aching because it's so full sensation that happens so often in motherhood. I wanted to bottle it up, freeze it, just stop time for a minute and soak in this ordinary (but so not ordinary) moment snuggling with my three sleeping babies and being so close to them while they're still so little. But I couldn't do it. No matter how hard I tried those weightless moments just kept right on slipping through my hands. With all my might I was trying to stop them. Hold onto them. But it's impossible. There might have been a few tears with that certain and undeniable realization that time just keeps on moving. You know how sometimes things just hit you with more reality than normal?
But as I thought about it I realized the irony. These weightless, fleeting moments that pass by like a breath are actually the most weighty and substantial thing in my life. These sweet moments of loving bigger than you ever imagined yourself capable of are deep and real and heavy and heart breaking and wondrous all at the same time. They are not really weightless at all.
While I can't hold them in my hands or stop them from passing, they are filling up my heart to the top with this indescribable feeling of fullness.
Sometimes the things you can't see or touch or feel are the most real things of all.