Rags n’ Riches



  • This baby chick. She’s about to rock our nest. Will she be like me? Will she hold her Daddy’s heart? Will the boys be gentle with her? How will we all change? Please tell me I can do this. It seems like just as life gets comfortable, we’re asked to stretch, to step outside our cozy boundaries. Some say the jump from one to two was a rough flight. Others say it doesn’t happen until the third. I know it’s different for every mother; but I’m not going to lie, I’m a little anxious about it all. Change, new chapters, and uncharted territory (especially in motherhood) always seems to nerve me a little. Traditionally, I go through a mini ‘mourning phase’ of sorts. I try to simultaneously hold onto the past and present, knowing it will all change in the very near future. The first time it happened, I was engaged to be married. Then it came knocking again as soon-to-be parents. Yes again (eyes-rolling), when I was 8 months pregnant with Beckam: cuddling Gage a little longer at naps, singing him more songs before bed, holding his hand a little tighter — trying to cling to what was left of our time as a little duo. As a creature of annoying habits, here I am experiencing it yet again. Relishing the moments that are only ours being a “boy” mom… doing only things boy moms do. For soon, that will all change. Not in a bad way; it just will. Maybe the thing to be learned from this repetitive behavior is that I value time more than anything else. I savor it. And that some of the accompanied sorrow means I’ve appreciated the time that’s been. But just as before, I know I’ll look back and say, “This miraculous thing happened, my heart just tripled in size! It’s so much better with three! Why was I even worried? Look at how much we all love her!” As unsettling as transitions can be, they’ve always served as a confirmation that I need to grow and accept that invitation courageously. So for now, I feel like a freebird trying on a new set of mama-wings for a third time. Doing my best to willingly let them attach at their own pace and in their own way. (sigh). The sky is wide, calling me to fly… Here’s to hoping I’ll somehow find a way to soar.