A mother becoming.

This morning, over oatmeal and Clementine cuties, Jared and I discussed our little darling. He’s changed. Dramatically. And it has all surfaced within the last fourteen days.

He can say words.
He consciously plays with toys. He pairs motions with noises.
He climbs.
He helps.
He repeats what he hears.

I could have sworn that it was just yesterday (or a few days before) that he fit so snugly up against my chest.

Now, when I hold him, his body wraps around my side. His pudgy legs dangle.

And I have been thinking deeply, as I see him grow more into a child. I have been thinking about the process of understanding, of learning.

Friday evening, he fell off our kitchen bench and conked his little head. A few minutes later, the scenario happened again.

He cried, and called for me.

I came and held him.
I comforted him.
I rubbed his tiny head and told him I knew that it hurt.

But it still hurt.

I softly, within, recognized something eternal in this small, rather insignificant event.

I recognized the words I had just spoken to him. I had heard them before.

Months ago, I was bent over with purposed pain, in the presence of a few choice, dear ones.

We all had been anticipating this miracle for months on end. We had watched my body as it had prepared, as it grew.

The time had come. And oh, the pain. It was violent. And I felt small again, like a child. Helpless, at times, and in so much need.

And there, by my side, was my mother.

I cried and leaned into her and told her how badly it hurt.

She touched and held.


She said she knew.

The words were comforting. The necessary pain continued on.

Countless other times, I have bent over in prayer, in complete need of the Savior’s unfailing atonement, in need of comfort, in need of strength. In need of healing, in need of courage, in need of uplifting.

In need of feeling the sweet, assuring, unfailing love of Heavenly Father.

And truly, each and every time, with each and every sorrow, wound, transgression, or disappointment, Heavenly Father has known and felt each, too. Because I am His child. Truly, my understanding of this concept has deepened tenfold in the last year. And there is nothing like the comfort of knowing that your pain is shared, knowing that you are understood, and knowing that you are never, ever alone.

Motherhood, parenthood is this eternal concept that moves itself in rounds. It is so much a journey. And the things we come to know, the things we learn about ourselves and about the sweet little spirits we nurture in our homes, help us understand, a little more, about the love of our Savior, and the love of Heavenly Father. His patience is perfect (especially when ours is not). He loves us eternally, and without regard.

He, as our Father, knows the places we hurt. He knows us through and through.

I am thankful to see and feel within my heart how the nature of the relationship between parent and child, and between Parent and child is divine.

I believe this with my entire heart.