This morning I was calling around to some Mother’s Morning Out programs to see if I might find a place for Jay Paul to go a couple mornings a week (starting after Christmas). I’m not sure why this sent me into an emotional tail spin, but it did. I got so sad about my little man growing up. And sometimes, although I can’t explain why, there’s no greater solace to a sad heart, than making words rhyme . So, while I am truly a bad poet, I wrote a poem anyway. And now I am feeling ever so much better.
Whitney, I can actually hear you laughing now, telling me this is too dramatic and that I am shaping up to be the scariest mother-in-law in the history of the world. But here it is anyway
Every single great man,
Was once a mother’s baby boy.
All that strength she held within her arms,
Would soon stand firmly on the floor.
She watched his fingers fumble,
To grasp the toy and hold tight.
Now she watches with pride and wonder,
His pen weaving wrong to right.
He drew his breath and squealed,
For the delight of a single ball.
And she holds her breath with fear,
As he sprouts wings above them all.
Two steps up he’d crawl,
Then rest, smile back for her.
No backwards glance now needed,
As he summits round every turn.
She counted piggies in the market,
And played peek-a-boo with his soles.
Now those feet march towards justice,
And she knows not where they go.
Her kisses, how they melted!
On his head and soft, pink cheeks.
But the need and count grow fewer,
As his face forms lines and peaks.
She was thankful for the baby boy,
God entrusted to her care.
And found it a privilege to love him,
To hold his hand and drive out fear.
But all the while she knew it coming,
Her great triumph and pending doom.
That this child would outgrow her,
And become a man too soon.