One year ago, I thought I was on top of a mountain. I was in the hospital with Josh and our new son, trying to name him, introduce him to visitors, learn how to nurse him, drink as much cranberry juice as I could hold, and comprehend that the most beautiful baby I'd ever seen had just pushed his way out of my body.
I couldn't get over how much I loved him. Instantly. Even as I type, it brings tears to my eyes. And I felt great. A little sore - but nothing compared to the day before. I had to be the luckiest woman in the world. High on hormones, or fatigue, I knew it was a high, so I relished every second. Life couldn't get any better than this.
The next day, we went home. I was sad to leave the hospital because it meant the big event - Noah's birth - was over. But then I discovered that it was nice to be home with Josh and Mom and Dad and meals from our Sunday school and a very very simple agenda: wake, feed Noah, pray, change him, stare at him, pray, sleep, wake, feed Noah, pray, change him, stare at him, pray some more, sleep...
And after some time, I started to feel like a person of the world again. So Josh and I went out to Puffy Muffin. And then I raced back to see my little boy again. Not because I was worried about him, just because I missed him.
And slowly, as the months passed, I began to realize that I was still waiting for the descent - the other side of the mountain - the joy to wear off. We had sickness, bottle drama, leaky diapers, reflux, job flux, and lifestyle adjustments. But it was all part of the adventure of being Noah's parents, so I didn't want to miss any of it. And that was the "tough" stuff.
Every day, Noah says or does something that feels like a little miracle. Yesterday morning, he was banging on a mirror, so I grabbed one of his hands and said "no." So he banged on the mirror with the other hand. I grabbed the other hand. So he started banging on the mirror with his head. It was wrong, but creative! Last night, he figured out how to crawl behind the counter and then pop out to play "peek-a-boo" with me. This morning he followed Daddy from room to room as he got ready for work. You could just feel him wanting to be with Daddy, to be just like Daddy. It was so precious. And that's not even everything I've loved about the last 24 hours - like when Noah fell asleep in his stroller while we walked some trails, or that he ate carrot salad at Chick-fil-A, or how we snuggled with me in the rocker after naptime, or his shivering when we got in the pool last night. The moments are endless.
Which is my point. One year ago today, Josh's mentor stopped by our hospital room to tell us that the joy of parenting doesn't go away - each stage is better than the last - you don't want them to grow and change, but then they do, and you love it. I was preparing myself for a descent. He was saying, open your eyes, it's ok, it's a plateau - you can just keep going and love it.
It can be a rocky plateau. And some people experience terrible descents. But I've learned this year that parenting is not inherently mundane - it's inherently amazing. No matter the problems we face, I will always be thankful for Noah and our time together.
Which means I'm finally starting to believe it: Noah's birth wasn't the peak, it was just the beginning.
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