Daydreaming

I heard a statistic today that on average, women spend 7 hours a week daydreaming about shoes. I am not a part of that statistic. In fact, I probably spend about 7 hours a week daydreaming about when I can take my shoes off. Especially this week, when after taking two days off from work to recover from the toe surgery, I am back at it, shoving my bruised, tender toe into boots and trapsing around in the snow from home to home.

I am also daydreaming about this:

I love my little guy so much. As I drive around, my mind wanders to when I get home, and can gather him up in my arms. Feel his wet little lips on my face, smell that sweet baby smell that is stored up in his hair, and press his squishy little pillow cheeks against mine.

I missed him tremendously today. This morning I got a call from a family that I had just met, a family whose child was terminally ill and went home from the hospital last night. His mother wept as she told me over the phone that he had passed away. I woke myself up and headed over to their home, and watched as his family spent their last moments with him. All deaths are painful and difficult, but there is something spiritual and profound about being in the middle of moments like this. You see people when they are stripped to their core, and witness moments that are raw and breathtaking, sometimes even beautiful.

But what I saw this morning was that this little boy was the same size as Oliver. A sweet little angel in his fleece pajamas, just like my Ollie was when I kissed him goodbye this morning. Watching as his family held him close, I daydreamed more than ever of coming home to hold Oliver. I ached, simply ached, to hug him, kiss his cheeks, and just stare into his bright, rosy-cheeked little face.

I had a strong suspicion that this job would be exponentially harder once I became a mother, and I was right. But it's also making my job as a mother a little easier. It's easier to keep perspective, and realize how blessed I am with this healthy child. It reminds me to be in the moment. I find myself daydreaming not so much about who Oliver might become, what he will look like as a school-aged kid, or even what his first words will be. I just dream about coming home to him every day. And every day, it comes true. How lucky am I.