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A straight run from labor to love.

7 votes, average: 2.43 out of 57 votes, average: 2.43 out of 57 votes, average: 2.43 out of 57 votes, average: 2.43 out of 57 votes, average: 2.43 out of 5 (7 votes, average: 2.43 out of 5)
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by Jodell Sadler

Parenthood comes. No warnings. No façade. It’s just a straight run from labor to love. No one warns you how much you will love the tiny-toed thing that makes his way into your world. It’s a love that’s so powerful, it’s hard to explain. Baby smiles, and your spirits soar above mountaintops, catches rides with Tooth Fairies, plays bongos on pots and pans—it’s a happy, happy time. Baby makes friends. They slide down hills and play and laugh over bugs and weird food and greet you at the door, making faces, mud dripping from brows to black feet, while you’re still hold the mop. It doesn’t get any better than that—you can’t help but adore them even more. Love is a powerful thing. He finds his footing, after a few bumper plops, and he learns. He plays and achieves, step by little step, and you shared with him the best you have to give. And when you watch him climb onto the diving board, and the lifeguard blows his whistle and says, “You can’t go off of that!” And your little guy hollers, “I can! Watch!” already mid-air, and he swims to the side. Then he says to the lifeguard, “Watch!” and he tries a flip that turns into a perfect dive. Your smile beams clean off of your cheeks. You’re so amazed he does all this at the age of two—motherhood is just about perfect. Love is a powerful thing. Day after long day, he greets you with his stack of ten favorite bedtime stories of all times (the ones you have read 350 days already this year), he tells you he knows exactly which order to read them in. You’re tempted to worry this points to his anal retentive-side, but as you read and laugh and tickle and giggle until you both certainly won’t sleep—you know this should be in every parenting book under stress prevention. You know every story like the beat of your heart and he knows them well too. So, when his teacher greets you and let’s you know there might be a problem, and she whispers, "He can’t read.” You don’t panic because you know the next thing she’ll say. “He’s memorized all of them!” You dig down to that most perfect, moonlit glow you feel inside and realize you have never felt more proud … and you remember, in an instant a book you shared and it takes you back to those laughter attacks in a most inappropriate place—but motherhood is so perfect. Love is a powerful thing. So, when he decides to play math like he play football, you wonder why. Then his sits with Dad to watch the big game. He hollers out scores right along side like there’s an echo in the room, and you know it was just a “male bonding” thing and it didn’t harm his math-table learning a bit. So, when his teachers find him “advanced,” you laugh at the silliness that got him there because it was all about sharing a big chair and doing the big-chested thing and looking at each other and hollering, “You’re the man!” with puffed up muscles. All the womanly wisdom in the world tells you this is something to let go and let grow because fathers need fatherhood, too. Love is powerful thing. Once his middle school year’s hit, life becomes all about the big race. Your race, from baseball to football to basketball and back again and again until it is time to buy a new car, but once each season is done, you move to the next level, called, “I wonder where it went.” And suddenly there’s this guy you pick up that is growing like a weed straight up from his shoes, and you feel frazzled time passes so fast. But he reminds you have planted plenty of good soil and roots because his demonstrates this with his care and kind words now and then—motherhood is a blessing. Love is a powerful thing. Then you blink and you’re watching him walk down the aisle in his eighth-grade grade graduation gown. He wants you to take a picture of him and his girl (and no, it’s not you) and a crazy photo of him and the guys to remember his moment by. And you cringe; you really do, to think that in four very short years he will be grown, and making his way in the world. And the one small thing you have to hold onto is that he will do this with all your love tucked deeply inside. Love is a powerful thing. No warnings, no façade, love is just love. It’s just a straight run from labor to love.

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