Heart Beeps

Whew! Life has gotten the best of me lately. Between health issues, finishing up school, church callings, a sister coming home from a mission, trying to find a house, and...oh yeah...two kids, I haven't blogged in a bit. I'm not apologizing (okay, you thousands of readers?!), but merely stating the facts. I love my blog, despite how infrequently and inconsistently I keep it up. It is basically my children's baby books (Ember is a little more unlucky in this aspect. Sorry Sis!) and a record of what goes on in our family - moreso the emotions attached to things than the actual events, since I'm really terrible at timely updates of holidays, vacations, etc. and by the time I get around to writing about something we did, half a year has already gone by. I hope my kids get to read my words someday though and realize that we did have fun and I spent a lot of time with them - so much so, maybe, that they didn't leave me with a lot of time to write about it! I honestly do not know how people do it that post pictures of their happy little families in their happy little houses doing happy little crafts and making happy little recipes every.single.day of their entire lives. If someone knows THAT secret, please let me know! Because I have a feeling that the more kids that we have, the less time I will be able to devote to blogging. Anyways, it is a Friday and I am finally getting to sit down for a moment while Jason does some work next to me on his computer, and he suggested that I blog about a sweet little moment that happened tonight.

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Parenthood is funny. And unique. No two kids are alike, and no two situations with said kids are ever alike. If they were, then there would be no need for books on parenting, or even pediatricians for that matter. If it's happened once, we'd all be experts by the second or third time. Not so. And if it is that way for you, please don't tell me. Every day I find myself completely physically and emotionally and intellectually challenged as I try my darndest to raise these two completely unique and fascinating individuals.

Maybe it's because it is the eve of my oldest's birth, but I am feeling particularly sentimental and emotional lately about my children growing up. My baby is now over two years old and becoming less of a baby with each passing day. My oldest is beginning to write and read and just graduated from her first year of preschool. What?! Where did the time go? Pardon me if I sound cliche', but seriously - tell me where it went! It's not funny anymore. This is getting serious.

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We put the girls to sleep tonight as we normally do - together, at the same time. Although lately, they have been getting into all sorts of mischief after the lights go out. Reagan will generally climb into Ember's crib if they're feeling feisty, and bring all of her bedding and all of the stuffed animals that we own in there with her. The girls will then proceed to jump until their hearts' content, or until the pictures and decorations on the wall in their room come crashing down - whichever happens first. If I'm being honest, after long days (most days), all I want to do is to put them to bed and just sit down. Does anyone else feel that just sitting down is a luxury that they rarely get anymore?

As luck would have it, they were up to more antics tonight that involved all of the above, as well as multiple potty breaks, drinks, and uncontrollable giggling to the point that it is not all that funny or cute anymore. At least I have to pretend that I don't think so. Finally, I barged into their room and with all of the authority I could muster, I picked Reagan up and brought her out into the living room. I am a nice mom, but it was going to have to be time-out-time for Reagan for a little bit until Ember fell asleep. She stood there for a few minutes, at which point she needed to go potty again. It was a textbook defense mechanism against time-out, but I can never tell her that she can't go potty, so off we went. We are pretty close and open in this house, and while she was doing her thing on the potty, she had her arms familiarly wrapped around my neck. My heart immediately softened. I told her that I was going to rock her in the rocking chair until Ember fell asleep. She didn't have a choice in the matter.

I sat there, methodically rocking in the dark, while visions of sleep and the half-eaten doughnuts from celebrating National Doughnut Day that sat on my counter. Reagan's curly, sweaty little head lay on my chest, and her breathing became deeper and more relaxed. She abruptly looked up at me with a little smirk.

"Mama, I can hear your heart beep." (We have beeps, not beats in our house.)

I smiled as an electrifying wave of deja vu and emotions came rushing through the top of my head and out my fingertips that held tightly onto my big, almost four year old girl.

"Oh yeah? What does it sound like?" I asked.

"Ba-bum, ba-bum," she said with confidence.

Suddenly, I realized that no less than four years ago, almost to the very minute, it was my heart beep that she was hearing for the last few hours from inside of me, as we very (im)patiently awaited her arrival in the hospital. Maybe it was that same heart beep that kept her all warm and cozy and familiar in there, ten days after her estimated time of arrival. Reagan has always had a stubborn spirit about her, and even then I should have known that she was going to come out at the very minute that she saw fit. Her eternal schedule was written in black ink and no one but her could make changes.

She laid down on my chest again, and I willed my heart to beep its most beautiful beeps right at that moment, just for her. I sat surprised, and yet not, that this very natural source of comfort was making its rounds once again into our lives, four years later.

I told her about the night she was born. The taco salad I had for dinner that night at Nana and Bumpa's. The medicine that they gave me that made me so very sick. Daddy holding a bucket and my hair for me so I could throw up. My mom pacing back and forth to the contraction monitor. Iron and Wine and the theme from Cider House Rules playing in the background. The doctor and nurses scurrying about. Pushing. Pushing. Pushing. Praying. And pushing some more. The love that her daddy's eyes showed me as he coached me through those contractions, throwing up, and pushing. Reagan coming out, pink and purple (her favorite colors!) with an endearing cone head that she wore proudly like a crown. Her dark brown hair lining the back of her neck. Her nose. Her perfect upturned nose. Her shrill cry and the way it sounded like a choir of angels, celebrating new life. The way she nursed like she had been waiting on that meal for MONTHS. The way her sweet eyes looked up at me, knowingly, as if we had been friends all along. Her daddy giving her a first bath. The earthy, sweet way that she smelled. The way I raised my bed to the same level as the tiny crib they put her in, so that I could watch her chest raise and fall all night long, despite how much I needed sleep. The painful but wonderful soreness of my body from doing exactly as it was meant to do. I will never forget it. Any of it. It is engrained in my memory - etched into my cells. She was a part of me, and still is - but I am slowly letting those pieces fly like a kite. Strings attached, of course, but she is already soaring.

She taught me more the night she was born than I had ever learned prior in my entire life. Patience. Endurance. And wild, otherworldly love. Tonight, she taught me more. All while my heart went ba-bum, ba-bum. Just for her.