[title subtitle=”words and images: Jeremiah and Jessica Sowards”][/title]
My youngest son, Benjamin, just turned one. His wrists still have the chubbiness of a baby and the little dimples on his pudgy hands do too. His hair is still wispy fluff. When he rubs his eyes and when I rock him to sleep, I see the remaining traces of infancy. But mostly, his babyhood is fleeting. Mostly, as he teeters down the hallway after his brothers, tries new foods and learns new words, I see the boy he is becoming.
He is the youngest of my five sons. I know all too well how fast they grow, how quickly seasons change and wispy hair turns into stubborn cowlicks. This year, Jackson, the boy that made me a mom, learned to skin a deer. Every time I turn around, I am both delighted and assaulted by the fact that my sons are speeding forward in life far quicker than I can keep up. It’s poignant, but I embrace it. Mostly.
I knew during the pregnancy that Ben would be our last. I have savored the first year of his life, not rushing milestones as I have in the past. Raising five boys on a farm is exciting. There are promises of adventure. There are fun days, big messes, loud dinner times, and there is endless love. I had looked forward to putting the baby stage behind me and moving on to the all those exciting things, but as Ben’s first birthday crept closer and closer, I felt a weight fall on my heart.
I wasn’t prepared for how hard it was going to be. In the blur of having a newborn, a big, vibrant, demanding family and a thriving and growing farm, I was well aware that my season of having babies was closing, but I hadn’t really stopped to consider what it would feel like to say goodbye to it for real.
About a month before his birthday, while we sorted out tiny clothes and put them in a box to give away, a storm cloud settled over me. I sunk into a blue melancholy that I won’t call depression, but I will say felt an awful lot like it. I couldn’t shake it. At night, when Ben slept peacefully, I would pick him up and carry him to my bed. I’d curl up around him and kiss his head, smell his wispy curls and thank God for him, as if I hoped to bottle the moment and save it for later. When people innocently asked, “Can you believe he’s almost one? Can you believe how fast he’s grown?” I would just nod and hold back tears.
I tried to be optimistic and focus on the positive, imagining all the fun I would have with Ben as he grows up. I imagined tossing all the bottles and dared to think of that glorious day when we no
longer have to do diaper duty. But nothing helped. I just felt a little lost facing this finality. I was mourning this part of my life that has spanned the last ten years.
And then, perhaps a little later than I should have, I prayed, “Give me grace for the upcoming season in my life, God. Give me peace for the current one. And give me joy when I look back at what I’m walking out of. I need Your comfort.”
Just when I began to feel the sadness would swallow me up, the goats had their kids.
One cold morning, when the days were just starting to lengthen, our business partner, Lisa, called me and told me we’d just had twins born. I made the half mile drive to her house, and as soon as I scooped our first doeling of the year, aptly named Hallelujah, into my arms, all the hurt melted away.
Over the following week, we welcomed several goat kids on our farm. First Hosea and Hallelujah, then Hermione, Honor, Tabitha, and Rahab. And with them came spring, in all of her glory. Baby chicks began hatching, dozens upon dozens of chirping balls of fluff. The rabbits all gave birth to wiggling, hairless kits with closed eyes. We planted the garden, dropping seeds in fertile black soil, and praying over them daily as they unfurled their green leaves and stretched towards the sun.
Then, somewhere in the middle of it all, in the midst of the excitement and planning, the bottle feeding and milking, the weeding, planting, and getting ready for market, Benjamin Peter turned one. And just like that, surrounded on all sides by fresh, teeming life, I became a mother with no small babies. And I was okay.
It’s still bittersweet. Occasionally, I catch a glimpse of my boys, and they look altogether grown up. These moments just sneak up on me. They seem to change overnight. It’s like all of a sudden they become toddlers, then kids, then preteens. I can only deduce that one day I will look at them and be taken aback by the fact they have turned into men.
It won’t always be easy, but God gave me the grace and the goats to deal with this hard transition. I am holding on to the hope that He will do it again and again.
In the meantime, I will do my best to embrace every day. I’ll try to remind myself during the toddler tantrums and pre-teen drama that one day we will look back in disbelief at how fast it all went by. I’ll enjoy watching Ben grow into a toddler. Seeing him learn and change into the incredible child he will be, I imagine I will even be ok when his cowlicks start to show and his wispy hair disappears.
Truly, even though I lose my grasp of it occasionally, I am so thankful. I thank God daily for five healthy, beautiful boys. I praise Him that they are growing and that I get to be their mom. I praise Him for this incredible life I get to give. And I praise Him for goats, and that in His plan, they are born at just the right time to remind me there is always something to look forward to.
Follow Jessica on her blog @thehodgepodgedarling.blogspot.com
