Ponder

I didn't realize it was the last time until it was too late. Suddenly it sunk in, Gemma hasn't nursed for a few days now. I missed the last time. I wanted to cherish it, to soak in every minute, committing her little face to memory as she looked up at me.

These are private moments. Sweet, tender, precious moments. Moments that I don't ever want to forget. I want to remember the first time I held Gemma against my body. She was a tiny, wrinkly, squinty little thing, fresh from my womb, eyes shut tight and fingers clenched into tiny fists. I also want to remember the last times Gemma nursed, pausing from her adventures long enough to snuggle up in my lap, then sitting up and smiling at me.

I was reading my Bible this morning in the second chapter of Luke. The same phrase popped out at me twice, in verses 19 and 51: "And Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart." I sat and thought about that for a little bit and I realized how much this applies to all of us mothers, not just the mother of our Savior. I can write about my kids' milestones and adventures. I can share the stories with my friends and family. But none of those things are as precious to them as they are to me. So I tuck all of these things away in the back of my mind and in the corner of my heart. Someday when I am old and wrinkly myself, I will pull these moments to the forefront of my mind. My children will be grown and will have little ones of their own, but I will still remember.

I will remember the way Jack, when he was three, woke every morning and announced to me with a furrowed brow "Mom, I didn't get ceeyo yet!" I will remember Tyler at eleven, still willing, every once in awhile, to hug me tightly and to tell me how much he loves me. I will remember the way Caedmon at five, held his sandwich in his fist, gnawing on it like a little starving beaver. I will remember Noelle as a nine year old and her stash of rocks in a Poptart box that she kept on her bed as a secret treasure. I will remember Camryn at age seven, with her fingers wrapped over her freckled nose as she still sucked her thumb, but only when she was tired. And I will remember Gemma weaned at 14 months without her mother even knowing it. I will treasure the way she wrapped her arms around my neck and patted me on the back as she snuggled into the crook of my neck.

I will keep these things and ponder them in my heart.