lessons from a second chance at a first year.

In one week, the little surprise that rocked our world is turning ONE. A full year passed by in a blink.

There’s a perspective that comes with your fourth child that you can’t possibly comprehend with your first {if we want to get technical here: Charlotte was our third at home, my second pregnancy and birth and our fourth in order of age – is that confusing at all to anyone?!?!}.

This little one took us by such surprise, I never expected to have another chance to parent an infant. It was such an unbelievable gift and my heart swells every time I think of how precious these days are.

Because I don’t want to forget any of this, I thought I’d record a few surprising lessons I’ve learned the past 365 days with this adorable little gal…

Lessons learned from a second chance at a first year:

1). Your capacity to love expands exponentially.

I know many moms who are worried about having another baby after their first. They’re worried that they can’t possibly love another babe as much as they love their first little love. I was so anxious about this. I had two little guys that had my whole heart and a girlie across the ocean that occupied space there, as well. It just felt like there wouldn’t be enough room for them all.

When in fact, there was. More than enough room.

Our Charlotte girl has lit up our lives. She has shown us that love is not confined by numbers or by our plans. She has given us a surprising glimpse of our Father’s love. The way He can love us all – which always seems a little overwhelming when I think on it. Now that I have this little princess {let’s stop here for just a moment and acknowledge the fact that the royal family clearly decided to name the newest princess after our own Charlotte Elizabeth, but I digress}, I have received a new perspective on His unending and unfathomable love for little ole’ me.

2). Having older siblings is pure joy.

Babies are fascinated with these creatures that are closer to their own size than mommy and daddy. Dance parties are entertainment, silly faces are hysterical, and crazy loud noises induce belly laughter. I love having the older three to distract Charlotte when she is fussy during a diaper change or challenge them to make her laugh when she is screaming in the car. They are built-in baby entertainers. And, their love and devotion to their baby sister is astounding. Watching the gentle way they care for her and love on her makes my heart swoon.

3). Each moment is a treasure. 

Watching the little ones run past me who once occupied the same crib as this babe gives me a daily dose of reality: this season is short. This baby will grow very quickly.

The squishy baby rolls and adorably chubby hands and feet will soon lean out and be replaced with a lanky little person who no longer fits on my lap. Rocking a baby to sleep gives way to bedtime routines that no longer include the slow fading to dreamland in my arms.

As much as I want to rush the rocking and the nursing at the end of a particularly long day, I bring to mind the hard truth that this is just a {very brief} season. The dinner dishes can wait. This baby needing her momma won’t last forever.

4). Let it go. 

You release the pressure of doing it all. You learn to say “no.” You learn to let go of perfection. You cut yourself some slack.

You know that milestones are not predictors of future successes. You know that sleep will return someday {and repeat the daily mantra: I will sleep again. I will sleep again. I will sleep again} and survive on coffee and baby snuggles.

Strict schedules held with your firsts go out the window and you let your baby lead with her own hunger and sleep cues. You hold her often. You know that she can’t be spoiled and you don’t listen when well-intenders tell you otherwise. You finally stop comparing your baby and your parenting style to others. You relax enough to let life unfold and learn to just enjoy the ride.

5). You will surprise yourself. 

When those two pink lines appeared, you may have second guessed your ability to do this again.

Because, well, life was cruising along just fine. You had just started sleeping again. You had just cut diapers/pull-ups/wipes out of your budget. You had just replaced sippy cups with little cups without lids. You had just received a taste of the freedom that those four hours of pre-school provides: no littles at the grocery store. Cue the Hallelujah chorus.

Fear and uncertainty may have tried to overpower you. But, you quickly learn something about yourself: you can do this. You lean on God. You draw strength and stamina and patience and compassion from HIS well. His supply is unending, while yours is very, very sparse.

You can do this and you can learn to find the joy in the midst of these chaotic early years. As the old saying goes, the days are long but the years are short. Oh, the truth in that statement. So, you embrace it all. The chaos, the tears, the hiding in the closet to eat your chocolate so that you do not have to share, the laughter and the mounds and mounds of laundry. You take an excessive number of photos and videos. You tell yourself that someday you will have the time to create pretty albums and they won’t always sit in files on your computer. You get up everyday and do your best. You pour out love and you mess up and you ask forgiveness and you pray. You pray that you are holding up to your end of the deal: to be a guide, a nurturer, a safe place for these little lives entrusted to your care.

You take a step back every once and a while to take it all in. The profound honor it is to be their momma. And, you give a great big exhale of gratitude. You thank the Creator who formed these good and perfect gifts so lovingly and gently placed them each in your arms.

You know with certainty that the first time you held this little babe after birth was the closest you will ever come to Heaven on earth {the only other that compares was the day her brothers were born}. Newborns are so fresh from God, there’s the faintest sense of the warmth of His hands remaining on their tiny bodies. You marvel at photos of that day. You close your eyes and remember the sacred and the holy moments of her entrance to the world. You make plans to gather your people to celebrate this year passed. This breathtakingly beautiful year.