I love my babies. The best time is when they start smiling and talking. Meaning, not real talking, but that sort of soft, cooing sound where they look at you all seriously as if they expect you to be listening and understanding. And you know what? I think I do understand. The thoughts are sort of fuzzy and half formed... more a general feeling expressed. Of contentment. Of pleasure. Of love and affection. Of curiousity, excitement about new things found.
It really takes me back. I feel jealous sometimes, remembering what it was like to be a child when a piece of chocolate or an outing at the playground made me as happy as I ever could possibly be. Maybe it's time to start letting those feelings take over again.
maybe some of your kids are "old spirits" just waiting to talk to you.
ReplyDeleteI think this is why the Lord loves little children so much...
ReplyDeleteMy granddaughter is 2 and a half and she still talks her own language. What's funny is that JJ. (her 6 yr. old brother) will translate for her.
That's what I've been focusing on for the past year or so. I need to see the joy and blessings in all the simple things, and not let the small things get to me. I've found that if I say only positive, uplifting things to my family and overlook mistakes or imperfections, then they act better(and work harder at being better) in order to get more compliments(even my husband). And I don't feel like such a nag!
ReplyDeleteI love love love this picture. I mean, I really LOVE it. He's so innocent and pure. Tonight I'm going to look for a little poem that my mother gave me when my son was born (the one who's now 24!). It was actually inside of a card, and the sentiment was so touching that I've kept it all these years. As soon as I find it, I'll send it to you, and I just know it will touch your heart.
ReplyDeleteHere's the passage I mentioned yesterday.
ReplyDeleteToward Morning
Sometimes when I wake up early in the morning before it is light, I hear my baby talking in his crib. If I rise upon my elbow very gently so that he will not see me, I can see him there in the dim light, dark eyes with his fat hands clasped together or patting one another. All the while he makes those tender, inarticulate sounds in his own language.
To whom is he speaking in the dark, toward morning? He is still so near Heaven, this little one—Is he talking in the language of the angels to some visitor invisible to me, but seen by his pure eyes? Is he making a report of his day’s events, his own progress, or asking after the welfare of others he loves in the land he left so short a time ago? Perhaps the angel who cared for him comes in that holy hour, to sit with him and love him yet awhile…toward morning.
Author Unknown
I know that jealous feeling -- I get it everytime something rediculously mundane is hilarious to them. Oh to find joy in the mundane... :)
ReplyDeleteVery sweet.
ReplyDeleteMarla,
ReplyDeleteI love that poem.
And I find myself wondering the same thing, everytime I have a newborn in the house. I think that the spirits of my babies great-grandparents wouldn't be able to resist coming down and playing with him on occasion... particularly when i have to ignore him and do something else for a moment. When i come back from some task and see him smiling at a random corner of the room, or intently focused on something I can't place, I think it's very likely that there are loving spirits around.