Sweet Spot

 

Our little Landry is right at 17 months old. Don’t worry, I had to count that one on my fingers because… well, because he’s my third child. If you had asked me yesterday how old he was I’d say with overwhelming hesitation, “fifteen months-ish”?!?

Worst. Mom. Ever.

The truth of the matter is though that I’m entering my sweet spot with him. This is my favorite age. Eighteen months. When he’s figuring some things out, his (big) personality is developing, and he begins to know who we are and recognize what’s going on around him. It’s THE best. 

Can I let you in on a little secret, though?

I’m not a baby person.

Nope. Not in any sense of the word. Truth be told, I didn’t even think I wanted a third baby. (Insert guilt here over the miscarriage. Get behind me Satan!)

I didn’t want a baby, but I did want another child. My hope was to adopt… for many reasons of course, but a lot because I wanted to pick someone up who was older than a newborn and didn’t have to be carried e v e r y w h e r e.

But here we are. 17 months in and we are just beginning to settle in as a family of five. Our Baby Wise Methods have taken a backseat to the schedules of our older two kiddos. What I would have thought was horrible as a first-time mom (like leaving my small toddler with three elementary school girls in another room while they play mom + baby with him) I find absolutely hilarious and even comforting. Pardon my quote, but it takes a village, y’all.

Now the bottles are gone, the diapers are here to stay for as long as I can have them and the park is about to play a major role in our lives… although the swing is the absolute death of me.

And - to my surprise - it’s all good.

Landry is refreshing. He doesn’t love toys - to my dismay - because he just wants to be with everyone else. I've found that he would rather watch the big kids play. He wants to dance (yes, he dances) to all the loud Taylor Swift songs in the kitchen, he wants to throw balls for Georgia and he wants to touch A L L of the stuff he’s not supposed to. This kid is 15 months old, oh wait, it’s 17 now, and he carries around hot wheels and transformers. I could try to wrap him in bubble wrap and protect him from all of the little toys (think barbie shoes and legos) but that’s not real life for us. I will not do it. And that doesn’t make me a bad mom, it just makes me real. 

Ain’t no one got time for wrapping kids in bubble wrap. Now, it might sound like I’m an absentee parent but I’m NOT. Don’t read too much into this… I’m just saying that with two older kids and people cycling in and out of the house with toys, homework, crayons and legos, I would drive myself crazy if I let myself get anxiety over that. I probably would have done my darndest with my first, but this time around I don’t. And instead of letting myself feel guilty, I’m choosing to let it be what it is. There are lots of life lessons in that, aren’t there?

Just like with the legos + barbie shoes, I can do my very best to shield Landry from the hot pinkness or that little lego helmet (bless), but there will most likely be one that slips through. (Let’s be real, it might be more like one a freakin' day). But no matter what I do to protect my kids, the reality is that God is in control, I am not. They are His, not mine. Our days are number y’all, but so are theirs. So. Are.Theirs.

Haven’t we all been there, though? Desperately concerned about our child’s well-being for one reason or another? Concerned about their feeling left out but instead of helping them learn to cope, move on or resolve their own situations, we try to be super mom and swoop in to save their day. But what does that teach them? That we are in control? But that’s a lie and as hard as it is for me to accept sometimes, I cannot - and should not - fix everything for them.

Instead of letting that paralyze us, we can let that free us, y’all. Free us from being helicopter moms that need to control every ounce of their environments. Free us from needing to know every word that is taught at school + free us from the fear of the germy ball pit. Bless.

Wow. So I kinda went from writing about Barbie shoes to writing about God’s sovereignty. But so goes life. He is in everything, when we look for Him, right?

Where do you find yourself today? Are you in a sweet spot or are you in a tumultuous season? Are you finding a rhythm in your days or do they feel more like chaos than routine? I am thankful that 18 months later, we might be starting to find a rhythm. Finally.

Wait… he’s only 17 months.

Have a great Wednesday, y’all!