Creative
Years ago, my husband and I tentatively dipped our feet into parenting. At the time, we expressed our enjoyment of older kids and teens. We thought we would endure those "painful" newborn years. Four babies later, I was chatting with my husband on the phone while I folded newborn clothes to be shipped off to a younger sister. Without forethought or warning, I was surprised by my tears. It seemed as if my body were telling me not to skip lightly over the joy I have had with my newborns. Despite what I may vocally express or feel, my inner spirit has celebrated the creative event of having children. Yet, my human self has a hard time always being patient with the nature of living. Less than a year ago, I called my husband as I tried to wash dishes with my very pregnant belly. I was tired, frustrated and feeling useless. So, I did what any irrational pregnant woman would do. I yelled at my him. I demanded an "end-date". I wanted to know when this life of chor...