As of today, London has been breathing air for 8 months, and I've never been more grateful for her little life and spirit. I'm pretty sure I'll always feel this way, but the rapidity of the phases she, and Noah for that matter, are going through, blows my mind. Wasn't I just pregnant? Wasn't Noah just in a diaper? Now, Noah is dressing himself, taking himself to the bathroom, doing chores, running small errands for me, holding conversations, and being a really good big brother. And London already has two teeth, is sitting up, is a pro with her paci (she maneuvers that thing like nobody's business), and is picking up and eating food with her tiny little fingers.
As I face-booked last night, there is a family in our church, who is close to losing their 11 month old from a rare brain disease. I don't personally know them, but they have a blog that documents all that's happening. I literally have sobbed over their story multiple times, and it just pushes me to reflect on my own children, their health and how I take that sweet gift of vitality for granted. I get so frustrated with Noah's stubborn nature sometimes and London's neediness, but my goodness, I have them. They are well and whole, and they are a blessing. This family believes that God is good and that His ways are higher and better, and that if He is taking their sweet Ava home, then Glory be to Him. Their attitude is such a testimony to how God can change and shape our hearts toward Him.
I pray to love my children as Christ loves me. To be patient and kind to them. To discipline them well and to hug and kiss them often. And to give glory to God no matter what. No matter what.