Watching the Two Year Olds

As I get on my friends' blogs I pay extra attention to the ones that have a child that has newly turned two. I look to see how tall the child is; I study the face. I read about their antics. I watch the video clips, and I wonder.

I wonder about my two year old. I wonder what it would be like for Gabe to have his older brother to play with.

Though it is bitter to think about- the thought is there. And just like the stars cannot prevent the dominating light that comes with the rise of the morning sun, I realize there is no use in trying to block the rise of these thoughts. They rise and fall as milestones come and go.

However, I can find peace and comfort when I shift from thinking about my empty arms to the things in my life that I am grateful for. 

Of course the event of losing a child has changed me. I truly understand what it means to mourn with those that mourn, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort. My heart aches for those that lose a loved one.

At the same time, I am also less sympathetic. It is very rare that my heartbreaks for a whining mother whom seems to have forgotten the amazing gift that her children are. For example:

Last summer a mother I know was trying to get a very worn out and screaming 4 year old ready for bed. Both the mother and father were understandably exhausted and their other children were trying to sleep. Between the moments of tantrums, this mother looked at me and with a 'poor me' tone said, "Don't you wish you were me?" I didn't say a word, but let my blank face be the most dignified response to her victim like remarks. My rising thought was "Yes! Yes, I would rather have my son at the age of 4 screaming in my arms than where he is right now. Would you like our children to trade places?" Perhaps, in her mind it seemed that her life's woes were bigger than my newly childless one because now I didn't have to deal with the woes of parenthood. I was 8 month pregnant with my second child at the time and longed to hold a child of my own in my arms again.

With that said, I know every moment of motherhood is not filled with sentimental bliss- there are hard days and tough weeks. There have been times I am holding an inconsolable infant in my arms in the early morning hours, and I feel an urge of frustration because I am so tired and just need sleep.

But I have learned to keep a perspective. Yes, this child is screaming now, but he won't scream forever and my life is better off for having him here, and one day I will miss having him as my little boy. Then I hug him and do my best to soothe him and myself.

Somehow in the dark week just after Garrett's death I was able to find comfort in gratitude. I thought about my brother and other couples I knew, including three couples in my current ward, that had tried to have their own children, but weren't able to. I thought about the pain it would be to not be able to have a child of your own. In that despairing moment, I became grateful that I got to have my baby, even if it was for just five months.

Much like Pollyanna, I often catch myself playing "the glad game" in my head to cope with life challenges. I felt validated when I heard Thomas S. Monson recently speak on "The Divine Gift of Gratitude" In his remarks he said, "To live with gratitude ever in our hearts is to touch heaven." With all my heart I desire to "touch heaven" and to have heaven in my home.

 I know the power of gratitude. It can give some light to a dark time. It can heal where there has been a deep wound. It can fill a seemingly empty cup. I am grateful for my friends’ blogs with pictures of their two year olds that help me paint of picture of what my little two year old might be like.