People have been telling me how lucky the Babe is to be with Taylor and me right now. We’ve been told how noble and selfless we are to open our hearts and home to her, and how wonderful we are for loving her.
And maybe she is lucky. Maybe we will turn out to be decent parents who can teach an already-great kid to function well in the world. That would be cool.
But I can’t help but feel awkward when we are praised and lauded. I don’t feel like we are doing anything extraordinary. That is, we are not doing anything above or beyond what any parent would do.
I’ve seen parents wait by the hospital bed of their child, simply hoping for another breath, another sunrise to see his smile. I’ve known parents who have never met their children. We all know parents who patiently clean up throw up off their favorite chair, out of their hair, off their shoes. Parents who stay up all night making the perfect birthday cake or adding the last finishing touches to Christmas and Easter before heading to bed themselves. Parents who make noodle soup 8 nights a week because it’s someone’s favorite dish and she isn’t feeling well.
And all those children are lucky to have parents. Parents who love them.
But I’ll wager that the parents feel the more blessed by their child(ren). My Daddy has said it time and again, as we all continue to grieve after Momma died, that he has been so blessed by their children. Their crowning glory. Their saints for the kingdom of God.
Children teach us things we never knew we needed to know. “Unless you become like children..”
Aren’t we the lucky ones? Lucky to be in love with her, to watch her grow and to be able to reciprocate her love?
