A friend asked me at church, "How are you doing?"
"Good. Really good," was the reply. "I'm just trying to enjoy it now before the bottom drops out."
Whoops! That doesn't sound all that optimistic.
"I'm just realistic," I told her, trying to recover. "But what I meant to say was that I'm soaking in each moment. Cherishing all the good parts. I'm trying to bottle up all this love, this joy, this happiness I currently feel, because I know at some point I'm going to need the extra reserve."
Isn't that the reality of life? Of being a parent? Lehi taught that "there must needs be opposition in all things." I take two things from that. 1) That "opposition" will happen. We will experience poor health, unemployment, death, sorrow, loss of homes or property. 2) We must experience those things to fully appreciate the good health that we do have, the blessings we do receive, the happiness and joy that is ours to experience.
Perhaps that's why I'm experiencing such high levels of joy right now. Because I can appreciate their stark contrast to the depression and frustration I found myself dealing with earlier this year. The sun always seem more brilliant, more warm and inviting, after a storm. And the storm is always easier to endure when we can find our own sunshine, no matter how small, to break through the black clouds that surround us.
So I'm excited about the new-found independence Rachelle is experiencing as she learns to walk. She is happier than she's been in months. A lot of screeching and screaming has stopped. And we're all basking in the glow of her accomplishment.
And I'm experiencing maternal love I have not yet known watching Shaelyn blossom into a happy, independent, adjusted 3-year-old. She's more than just thriving. I'm not sure exactly how to describe it. Only that my heart can barely contain the love, pride, and admiration I feel for her as I watch her soak up everything she's learning in preschool. Or create entire imaginary worlds where she and her teddy bears can play. Or master her emotions and not allow her anger and frustration control her.
Last week she told me she was ready to wear her Dora panties, pee in the potty, and be a big girl. She hasn't had an accident since she made this decision. And she needs no direction from me. This new accomplishment of being potty-trained has brought her a sense of pride she has not experienced before. And if I didn't think she could blossom any more than she recently has, I was wrong. I have shed more tears of joy and exultation this week than ever before as I watch her smile, tell me how happy she is, and see her good behavior reach new heights.
These moments would be happy and welcomed by any parent, I am sure. But these moments are made that much sweeter for me because I know how much effort, work, prayers, and pleading (both hers and mine) went into this last year. I wasn't sure how long my "parenting storm" was going to last. I looked desperately for any ray of sunshine I could find, often feeling like I was grasping at straws. And now that the sun is out, I'm basking in it's glow.
And trying to bottle it up. Because life will bring another storm. It's inevitable. And I want to have a little sunshine in a jar, to get me through it.
