I haven't been around very long, but it seems like in motherhood there are seasons where you can't see the forest for the trees. It's simple. The trees are diapers, food, toys (currently bubbles and beads), and more food. There is nothing more, nothing less. What forest? There is a forest?
Oh, let's not forget mama or dada's arms, depending on the very second that they are hit with the insatiable desire to be "Up". Ruthie seeks me out and lifts her arms, this child has mastered the pity me look, and gently says, Up? and then I fold like a napkin and up she goes. I joke that she would probably crawl back up into my womb if it were possible. Afton sees her go up and is upset, barreling over insisting on the same treatment. Up? Up?
I wrap them in my arms like branches, or vines; we root them on our hips and backs and shoulders, creaking under their growing weight but still we hold firm, swaying in the breezes and storms of life that have seemed to come so often in these first few years. Mama and Dada, their trees of life. Growing our roots deeper, wider, trying to anchor our family in those good things: love, joy, peace.
If I were them, I'd want to be in the same spot - climbing up and camping out in the safety of these arms that have held them and loved them from their first breaths.