People speak of this phenomenon called "runner's high." Some runners experience it, others swear it is completely bogus and just a way for crazy people who run long distances to make others want to do it.
Last December, we found out we were expecting, and pretty much, since then, we've been on a marathon run. I was sick at the beginning of the pregnancy, we moved across the country just as I was beginning to tolerate the smell of chicken, we settled into a new home, new life, new job, new friends, had babies in July, started new schools in August, added on to our house, braced for the holidays and are about to break into 2014. And I feel the runner's high! It's here, and somehow, we've made it.
I feel so humbled by God's confidence in me. I know He would never give me more than I can handle, and some days, I feel like surely He's gotten me confused with someone else. The days when everyone's hormones are out of control--the days when we are all emotional, but denying it, we are all over-tired, under-nourished, confused, frustrated and somehow kind of lonely in a house full of people. I don't know why He thought I was qualified for this.
And then I get this:
And a this:
And a:
At five months old, the babies are starting to sleep better. They are both on their tummies, with fingers securely in their mouths. They smile and laugh and watch everyone. I love this time when they are becoming people with personalities! What a privilege it is to be the first to see these developments. I feel like I'm backstage with God Himself, just watching and studying as He creates these little lives.
The months before this have not all been hard, but they certainly have not been easy ones. And to remind myself that the hard parts of living make the person is just fine and dandy. But to be living those hard parts? That's another story all together. The reason people call it "hard" is because it is. It hurts. It's confusing. It is daunting, never-ending, lonely, tiresome, monotonous, difficult and just plain hard. And plain hard wears you out in ways other things don't. It changes you.
It's like I'm on the dogwood trail again and I'm seeing pieces of it for the first time. I'm appreciating little things and rediscovering the importance of details. I'm realizing that though my body is not what I want it to be, it's not how I want it to look or feel, my body built two babies at one time. It carried two babies successfully, and they are perfect and healthy and beautiful, and so I can forgive myself the "flaws," for though I've run the marathon and earned the medals, my greatest accomplishment, my greatest feat will always be building human beings.
And that, for me, is a great high. To say, "Good morning, God!" rather than "Good God, morning?!" feels like we've made it through the tunnel and have hit a nice stride. I have no delusion that there are no more hills or valleys or twists along this early part of child-rearing; but there's been a little angel with me lately who keeps whispering, "You are doing it. It's working. Your life will never be the same, but isn't that marvelous?!"
