Monday, January 26, 2015


This is my body, broken for you.

That's the phrase I recite in my mind every time I lift Noah's bulk weight.

My back aches. My shoulders are tight. My neck is stiff.

He's a heavy toddler but demands to be held constantly like a much younger baby when he's not feeling well. And it happens often now that flu season is upon us.

Also, it doesn't count if your biceps aren't burning. Noah accepts nothing but the toughest workouts (for his mother) - none of that sitting on the couch and holding him. Woman, you are standing up! I need to feel the full weight of gravity!

Sometimes I can't hold him anymore and I just have to sit.

He wails in protest. Angry hot tears streaming down his face.

I endure his screams for as long as I can. And then I gird my loins and endure his weight again, for as long as I can. This is how we pass the hours. The days, weeks. Another season.

This is my body, broken for you.

This is my life, poured out for you.

These are my best years of productivity, set aside for you.

Go ahead and take it all my child.

Stumbling around with you, I am growing into a version of myself that I like much better than the person who was here before you.

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