The winds have been strong the last few days and the weather has been warm. As the air whips and whistles around me in a frenzy it's as if the world is expressing the current tumultousness of my mind.
For weeks I've been repeating the same thing to Whit. "Soon, sweetheart, soon. Soon the snow will melt away and the weather will be warm....soon." It's reminiscent of just two short years ago when I whispered those same words to myself and my overly large belly. "Soon, sweetheart, soon. Soon the weather will warm up and you'll be ready to meet us...soon."
I find it nearly impossible to fathom that not one but two years have passed since those days. The time seems to slip more quickly by me as I reach out to grasp the memory of each day, to etch the ever-changing face of that tiny bundle in my mind.
The last few weeks I've been struggling. I'm in yet another time of transition. I've climbed, resiliently, patiently, up the mountain of young motherhood and then joyfully bounded down, stumbling, of course, a few times on the way. And now I sit, poised, at the bottom of the next set of mountains and I'm trying to decide which to climb. Do I buckle up my gear and climb the career mountain, grappling my way through lesson plans and re-certification and student enrichment? Or do I look to see if some other mountain catches my eye?
All I know is that the mountain of early mothering is now behind me, for better or worse, I'll never be a "young new mother" again. I've seen and experienced too much. Even if we are blessed with other little ones I'll be the "experienced, multi-para" mom. Mostly that's a good thing. I can share my experience and tips of the trade with other young new mothers. I can be the wise sage whispering supportively to them. And I'm looking forward to the day that I can wear that mantle with ease.
But for now, on this last day of having a child under 2 and in these last months before Whit climbs his own first mountain, I'm finding that the jacket doesn't quite fit; I still have a little more filling out to do.
So I suppose I'll walk the valley for a while. I'll grow butterflies, catch fireflies and watch the clouds float by with my children, neither of whom fit into the "baby" category any more. And I'll wait. I'll wait for my next mountain and I'll tether my family as they prepare to climb up their own mountains.