I Want

Sir Screamsalot, a recently made member of the I'm Two Crew, is by far the talkingest child of the three I've birthed. At the age of eighteen months, he spoke in complete four or five word sentences such as, "I play Legos now, Mommy."

During the last six months, his capacity for language has exploded; I find myself hearing detailed descriptions of his interior life as he rambles around the house, deep in discussion with himself.

SS: I haf to share or nobody be my friends when I go school too.

or,

SS: I sleepy go find snuggles read numbers book in chair nowwwww (his voice trailing off into a tired sigh).

But the majority of his verbal interactions with me begin with those most whiny of words:

I WANT!

There is an endless list of things to want around my humble home: popsicles, do laundry too, blue Lightning car, Thomas DVD, pencil, lightswitches, suckers, shoes, potty, Nick Jr on computer, go outside...if it's visible either in this dimenstion of reality or in his imagination, Sir Screamsalot can work himself up into a fine tizzy of a tantrum with his undying lust for trivial objects.

Wanting is the state of being for the I'm Two Crew.

And that state of wanting, although tempered by maturity and life, never leaves us. Not fully.

*****************************************

I found myself today during Sir Sreamsalot's naptime mentally counting up the years until he's in first grade.

Four and a half years until it's off to first grade for him, fourth for Prince Tatertot, and sixth for Princess Pinky. All of them in school together.

All day long.

And while there's a part of me that leaps for joy inside, contemplating a life where some of the daylight hours are mine again, a part of me is deeply, deeply saddened by such a vision, too.

Just four and a half years ago, Princess Pinky was the cutest little pixie of a girl with wispy blonde curls, a just-turned-two dolly full of so much spit and fire that never once did I (or do I now) worry about her being bullied by anyone in this life.

Prince Tatertot was just three months old, and the happiest, sweetest, calmest baby I have ever known. That I am blessed with such a sweet and gentle giant of a boy for my son is proof that my dear Jesus loves me indeed. Prince Tatertot smiled and laughed well before "normal milestones" and has not stopped since.

And now, I find myself wanting.

I want it back.

I want those moments, and all the others that are just past the grasp of my fingertips, back. I knew they were fleeting as they came and went on the turn of a calendar page; I did know that, and I take some comfort in that self-knowledge.

But it is all so fast. Too fast.

What is it in us that makes us want for some time but this time? Is it because this time is hard, filled with challenges that we could not have forseen? Filled with the tedium and boredom of necessary but repetitive tasks? Filled with giving of ourselves in a yet another new way, a way that forces us to change our priorities once again?

How easy it is to mentally click past the hard days, the moments where we were less than we could have been as mothers, wives, sisters, daughters, friends. And how typical it is to imagine a hopeful future filled only with goodness.

While Sir Screamsalot, and the circumstances into which he entered, both put me through a crucible of sorts, reducing me to the only things that matter (faith, family, faith in family), his presence as a third child is a twofold blessing.

There is, of course, him: so adorable and loveable, so shining and bright and perfect and full of possibilities.

And then there is me: so happy at another chance to just be Mommy.

WM