“…in those early hours of our morning chat.”

Today was a good day. It was one of those days that now, as I sit and type, and reflect,  something wonderful comes over me. I am filled with this awesome, awe-inspired feeling of gratitude. And this gratitude does not stem from just one place, it comes from life on a whole. A general feeling of beauty that for some reason decided to grace me on this chilled August evening.

This morning I spoke with Janelle. My long standing friend whom, has recently brought darling Emily Lynn into this world. But, if you’re a regular reader of The Blogging Mama, you already know this, and you know how much my Janelle friend means to me.

Anyways back to the track, Janelle and I spoke on the phone of many things during this morning chitchat, but what really struck me was not what we spoke of but how we spoke. It was one of those conversations that one could really cherish in later days. Those talks that will stick in the mind; foggy but most certainly there. It was one of those chats that cement in, the reality of why you love this person so very much. Why you can call them your friend.

At one point or another, it is difficult to keep track of these things when the entire exchange was genially splendid, so at some point or another Janelle made a comment.

At first the statement did not send a fizz through me. I answered her in a nonchalant ‘oh ya’ and moved forward with our banter. It wasn’t until much later in the day, long after the receiver had been placed on its cradle, did I realize the breadth of what she had said.

“Sometimes, there is this small part of me that can’t believe I am a Mom. Like it is too surreal or something.”

As the words came out of her mouth, I immediately thought that this must a typical thought process that all women go through in those first sleepless months of motherhood.

No, it wasn’t until much later that it hit me.

Hours afterwards, Lars was playing an intense game of angry birds with the neighbour boy at his place, while Sophie had this boys little sis over for banana bread and dolly play. Another fortunate circumstance we have ran into is that we have been lucky enough to land us some great neighbours with kids the exact same age as ours.

As Sophie and her friend played princesses, I watched. As it happened,  I watched them from afar as my sweet little girl had already told me that she didn’t want me hanging in her room when she had friends over…In not so many words, but I got the drift, believe me.

So afar was the distance in which I watched them. And it was then that that prior conversation, that prior account my friend had so easily stated, hit me with a realization that was swift and hasty.

I am a mother. I am a mother of an almost three and an almost 5 year old.

Lars will be re-entering his school time adventures next week. And here sits Sophie, and her friend, they jibber jabber together whilst eating banana bread at a small green and pink plastic table and they somehow remind me of me and my Janelle friend,  in our coffee-time natter.

How big they’ve grown and how they have changed in these last short years. It will only be a matter of time before I am moving them into a college dorm or into their first bought home.

And the word that surfaces to mind is of course, surreal. How can this person I used to know as myself, this person who never thought she wanted children or a life like this, who only yearned to travel from place to place having wild adventures and running off pure fun, how can that person be so happy and content with this ‘some-may-say’ mundane life.

As the thought sashays through my mind, I glance back at my girl. I see her give a laugh in accordance to something her gal pal says as they make way for the toy kitchen and decide to cook up some grub.

A smile splits my trancelike facade, and I wonder how I ever could have wanted that child-free existence.  I can see how at the time, the thought of traveling and adventuring and funning would have had its benefits.

But now as I sit here with this epiphanic feeling weighing down on me I realize the reason for the surreal feeling was not for memories of the past but the unbelievable gratitude I have for the right now.

A gratitude that is so raw that it can only be described as surreal. Something that is so difficult to grasp when and why I was given the allowance for the beauty that has become this life of mine.

Becasue even if I stripped this existence down to the very core, the very essence of being which is myself, Jamie and the kids; I would still feel the surreality of this fortunate destiny.

So maybe I’ve felt it all along, or maybe I’m a little stunted in this feeling that my friend had tried to voice to me and could not grasp it until now.

Currently however,  as I sit here with obliged indulgence shining on both my shoulders I can without doubt appreciate the words she said, in those early hours of our morning chat.

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