An Itch That Needs Scratching

The urge to write is like an itch that needs scratching; it builds up and can become pretty overwhelming sometimes. Yesterday there were no spare minutes to make it to the computer. The older three children have just been put to bed and I'm hoping to spill out a few sentences before little Anna starts her wailing.

When I burp Anna Grace after a nursing, it feels as though I'm giving her a hug. I nuzzle close against her face and the world just stops for awhile. With not a care in the world, mother and baby contentedly cuddle cheek to cheek. She is a spitter, so I have to hold her upright for about thirty minutes post feeding. Those are some glorious minutes, especially when everyone else is slumbering and the house is quiet, save for the white noise fan.

Do you ever conceive plans for random acts of kindness, only to become so busy they never come to fruition? Isn't that so frustrating? We rented that hospital-grade breast pump for one month, and when Anna began nursing exclusively, I put it in the case and forgot about it. Don remembered, however, so today we rushed to the medical supply store to return it. The store is right next to the hospital at which I delivered, so when I returned it my intention was to bring cookies to the hospital nurse who worked with me as a lactation consultant and gave me the tube feeding system. That system, although imperfect, saved us a lot of stress from the use of feeding cups and medicine droppers, both of which result in wasted breastmilk (down the chin). Now, to fulfill my wish to thank her, I have to make an extra trip sometime, which won't be easy given the distance and our busy schedule. I suppose a mailed thank-you card will have to do.

A few months back, I intended on going with the kids to a new neighbor's house to bring them a tray of welcome-to-the-neighborhood cookies. That random act also never came to fruition.

Don's school staff gave us a lot of diapers and a gift certificate for Christmas, and my intention was to have the kids make a large, multi-colored mosaic heart to hang in the teacher's lounge, with a written thank you on it. Instead, because of busyness, I had to just send a thank-you card to put on the table in the teacher's lounge.

I admire people who not only conceive of kind acts, but deliver the goods as well, usually right on time. But, those are organized people. I'm not of that breed, unfortunately. I like my spontaneous side, but can't help but think a more organized me would suit this stage of life a lot better.

Now I am reminded of my friend Phyllis, who once told me that when we put ourselves down or wish we were different, we are essentially saying that God made a mistake. I am sorry, Lord. Thank you that I am "fearfully and wonderfully made". Just help me, please, with the things I'm not good at!

That wailing, do you hear it? That's my exit cue. Time to cuddle cheek to cheek with my little sweetie.