But what's more wonderful is that while I struggle with this inane need to procreate, I find myself mesmerized by the little monkey's I've already been blessed with. I sit and stare at their baby pictures, try to dredge up the memory of their smell, of their tiny little hands, how soft their feet always seemed to be. Then I put the picture book down and look at a red-headed 3 year old who loves to tell stories and read and color, and a feisty 2 year old who will have my heart no matter what she does. And I think to myself, "No one knows how special these two are but me and Brett. No one can understand what unique little spirits they are, what wonderful children they can be."
I listen to them scream at each other playfully, Kembry screaming, "He's chasing me," and Cohen laughing "I am mommy! I'm chasing her!" And I laugh with tears in my eyes and get down on the floor with my empty belly and roll around with them. My children love me. They adore me. I am their world, and they're mine. How did I ever get so blessed with these two?
It helps me understand on a deeper level than ever that I am a unique, individual child of Heavenly Father. Does He love me so much? Absolutely. Is He my world they way I am to my children? Absolutely. I'm grateful for this revelation, and I hope it lasts longer than last time, for they always seem to fade, until that next moment in time when I realize how wonderful my children are, and how much I know my Heavenly Father loves me for giving them to me.