My bedside is covered with scattered papers

Pregnant with Kelton - holding baby Lochlan

My bedside is covered with scattered papers filled with stick figures living out their adventurous lives and captions varying from "Mom, I love you" to "Mom, I love you so much I cood {sic} ete {sic} you". I usually can't find my Kindle to read the book which has taken me literally months to devour - well, nibble at a nightly couple-page dose - because it's buried underneath the most recent stick figure manuscript additions or a beloved stuffed animal that I'm being honored to love and cherish for the evening. There is no greater honor than to be in this role in this time and this place and I hold the moments in my hand, knowing that they will fall through my fingers and slip away no matter how desperately I cling to them.

There is a constant/perpetual trail of tears awaiting the arrival of the clutter-phobe (that is me) in every room that I venture into each minute of each day, and that's impressive since this is "technically" a 1 room house, if you don't include the bathrooms. The panic slowly subsides as I make my way through the house, gathering garments, airplanes, boats, trucks, pencils, books, blankets, tents, cups, Legos (OH, the CURSE!), leashes, sweaters (I could go on a lovely, expensive vacation tomorrow if I got a penny every time I hang a sweater in a week), underwear ("Lord, please help them to be clean this time..."), socks (straight to the laundry room, no questions, no exceptions), shavings (did I mention the indoor bunny???), breakfast crumbs, wagon, more Legos (I shall not swear, I shall not swear...), raisins (from yesterday?) to arrive on the other side with full arms/hands; as long as I don't turn back around I remain calm and resolutely peaceful (assuming the dog(s) haven't vomited in contribution to the array of chaos). Yet, I tremble when I consider the someday that may await me and a house absent of the pattering of the dirty feet (and paws) and all that comes with that pattering.

The challenge(s) of mothering Lochlan are truly inordinate and in this post I will not bring that tedium upon you. Suffice to say that the prolonged periods of screaming/raging/absolute frustration with all that is/isn't in his life combined with his complete inability to communicate culminates into a plethora of unfulfilled (delayed???) hopes, unmet expectations and much discouragement (for both Lochlan and me). When he climbed into my lap tonight and wrapped my arms around himself, the satisfied smile on his face and the giggle that accompanied it was the balm to my soul and the salve on a wound that seems to fester, even mildly.

There is no greater joy than sharing life with each of these treasured humans. There is no greater pain, either. How can the two divergent entities be within conjunction of one another? Tomorrow, I will awake and know that the impossible will be my reality and the joy that accompanies the magical/unbelievable, small and utterly profound happenings throughout each day will make what is impossible absolutely possible.