I’m shrinking.

On the outside I might be growing and swelling and stretching bellybutton flattened out over a watermelon stomach. But in much more important ways I am shrinking. My focus is narrowing and turning inwards. Inside the walls of this white washed house. Inside a room of snoring kids all long-limbs dangling over bunk beds. Inside this kitchen and it’s fridge that makes me happy in the simplest of cucumber sandwich ways.

Shrinking into small conversations with three-year-olds about love and whether or not Jesus likes big dogs vs. little dogs. Slipping into the cracks in the conversation when a five-year-old finally pauses for breath long enough to let me get a word in around the corner of his latest exclamation about the joys of Tae-Kwon-Do. Shrinking into soft moments with a husband stolen in between boys and their light sabers. Sometimes expressed only with the eyes, that smile tired, and know that while this family will soon be growing, in the best ways it is shrinking into the most focused and condensed version of itself.

The version where there are no grand outings, no big trips, no play dates or plans. Just many slow afternoons spent on a tired and sagging sofa that loves us, just as we are – pajamas, milk stains, sticky hands and all.

We get smaller and it’s that smallness that contains the seed of big and beautiful things. A heart rip-roaring with love for these three and the daughter we will meet in a month. Red tulips, race cars, and the left over dishes from last night the only witness to our growing smaller and bigger at the same time. We are living the paradox. And it is so good.

Worried you might miss a post? Sign up to get them emailed to your doorstep right here.
Or delivered to your reader of choice.

  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •