Patience is hard

The other night, I sat in the rocking in chair in Ryanne's room swaying gently as we sang Jesus loves me. The moonlight poured softly through the window onto her tiny, but not so tiny toes.

Her once short hair laid on my shoulder as she breathed softly onto my chest.

These are the precious moments. The ones we will never get back, and the most important ones to cherish.

As she drifted to sleep, I ran my fingers through her toddler fingers and gazed at her toddler toes, remembering the baby she used to be.

Her petite body once could rest on my chest in a ball no bigger than a cantaloupe. Now I stare at her dangling arms hanging not only of my body, but out of the chair too.

Her tiny torso is now bigger than she ever was two short years ago, and her arms and legs probably rival the length of her body at birth.

I never knew how time would fly until now, until this moment.

I cherish the few times she will cuddle with me, when she's not so busy bossing me around that she will actually be still and be my baby for an instant. There is nothing more wonderful than watching your child grow and thrive, knowing they are healthy.

But in the same breath, my soul aches to hold a tiny baby again. I want to run my fingers along their wrinkled but soft and precious skin as they breathe lightly onto my chest.

I want to feel those tiny breaths, and cherish the joy of a newborn yet again.

I know my day is coming, but sometimes patience is more difficult than it sounds.

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