Welcome Home

We just celebrated the baptism of our niece, LM, who is 3 months old.  My sister-in-law and her husband asked D & I to stand as godparents, a role that we are so proud to have. She was baptized in the church where D & I grew up, the same place we were married. She was wearing a traditional baptismal gown, all white and lacy, the kind that makes all the females in the room exclaim "Oh, how cuuuuuuute!" She solemnly examined our faces as our family affirmed an ancient set of beliefs, and her parents promised to guide and nurture her. Not a peep escaped her as the priest blessed her tiny head with the holy water. And tears were in my eyes as we officially welcomed her into our faith.

I'm a sucker for pomp and circumstance.

Just think how bad I'll be if she ever gets married...

Case In Point

Tonight, I was bringing E a very small drink of water, and was standing on his bunkbed ladder watching him drink it when he said "Do I have to drink the whole thing now?" and gave me a look. A look like I was putting him through some strange mother-son hazing ritual and forcing him to drink a giant glass of water right before he went to sleep, in order to torture both of us with the inevitable soggy outcome...

"I'm just waiting here to tuck you in!" I exclaimed, "Unless you no longer need my tuck ins!" (and at this point, because he is well-trained, he protested, but I persisted:) "In which case, I guess you no longer need a mother!"

"But that's not the only reason you need a mother!"

"Oh, ok," I relented, "so what are these other reasons?"

"To take care of you.  And to love you."

How is that amount of sweetness possible?

Prayer

Several years ago, before E came along, my mother told me that while my siblings and I were small, she would pray every day just to live.  Just to be around long enough for us to be (mostly...) grown up.  And that every day beyond that would be icing on the cake.  And when I was young, I thought "wow, that's morbid" and understood her only from a very clinical perspective: of course my mother would want to live to see me grow up.  That's only natural, after all.

I have E now. And now I know how it feels to worry that I will die suddenly in a car accident or in a plane crash or of cancer, and leave my small son behind.  Granted, he'd be more than adequately cared for, more than adequately loved. But it wouldn't be by me.  And that's the fear that keeps me awake sometimes.  It's the constant, dragging fear that sends me shivering from a close call on an icy patch of road, or shuddering in horror from a story about a mother of five dying unexpectedly from some rare disease.

My life is lived, and it's been lived pretty darn heartily.  If I were all that I had to worry about, it wouldn't be so bad to die.

But there's one small boy, one person that I was meant to take of. And Someone obviously thought I was the best person for the job.

And so, like my mother before me, and like mothers for centuries, all I ask is that I live until He doesn't need me any more. And hopefully by that point, he won't need me any more.