the funny thing about love

You try and remember the details of the big events in your life.  The things that matter.  The things that change you.  Big days, big moments, big trials, big struggles -- you think they stay fresh in your mind.  But as time passes and moments pass, you realize the finer things -- the intimate things -- you sometimes forget as the mundane parts take over your memories.

I want to remember the intimate things.

As I parted from my love and walked alone to the operating room, I became aware of how much I depend on him to calm me.  I could feel the anxiety of the next minutes without him overwhelm me; the needle, the numbing, the slowed breathing.  I desperately wanted to hold his hand through it, rather than the stranger, the masked nurse who tried to comfort me.

You forget those things, you know, in the hustle and bustle of your day.  When almost nine years have passed you by as sippy cups and homework assignments and temper tantrums rule your conversations.  You forget that there's no one else's hand you would rather hold, whether you were scared or happy or just high on love.

I don't want to forget it again.


I could hear my slow breaths in my ears.  The sounds of machines and alarms, checking my vitals.  Voices with unfamiliar faces -- then they called him into the room.  Fears and worries melted and I smiled when I saw his gentle eyes peering over his mask.  How could one man change how I feel so quickly?  He quietly whispered, "Are you ready to meet our little boy?"  I remember answering in my head, not sure if I said it outloud.  "Yes."

When you have one child, you can't possibly imagine loving another as much as the first.  When you have two children, you can't possibly imagine stuffing more love in that heart of yours to make room for a third.  But when I heard his cry, when he was released from my body into a sterile room with bright, white lights -- I was filled with him again.  Not in the empty cavity he came from but with a swell in my chest.  I hadn't even seen him, hadn't even smelled him, and he was mine.  I had enough love, more than enough, for him.  And his big brother.  And his big sister.  And his daddy. 
Because you see the funny thing about love is, when another person is added to that totem pole you keep -- the one with the names of all of those you share this life with -- love actually spills out on them too.  My love for my newest Little increased my love for all the others I had loved before him.  My capacity wasn't filled like I had thought.  There was even more left to be given. 
And when I held my First and my Second and my Third in my arms, I couldn't help but know the Father's love for me in a deeper and more intimate way.  Not just in the blessing of bringing new life, new love, to this Earth but in how His love for me increases because of the love He has for all of His other children too. 
 
 
 
I watched the events of the day unfold in slow motion.  Not trying to remember his size or the hour and minute he arrived but trying to remember the way He, my Father, was in each intimate moment.   Holding onto the things I knew I would want to recall, things I didn't want the mundane to steal.  I want to remember how my capacity for love doesn't end with the children I grew in my own body, but that my chest can and will swell with each opportunity to love another that God places in my path.


*Levi Frank was born at 8:01am on April 4th, 2014.  He was 8 pounds and 20.5 inches long.  Happy, healthy and strong.