Lasts

Lasts. I wish they would always announce themselves. I wish that they were always clear and obvious . . . but more often than not, lasts come quietly from behind and fade softly into the shadows of memory before I realize a last had come. I wish I always knew when a last comes to the doorstep of my momma heart; because far too often, they have come and I have been too busy in the moment, or the frustration, or the business to acknowledge the beautiful lasts.

In my experience, the lasts that do not announce their presence come on the days you are too tired, too irritated, too worn, too frustrated . . . they trick your heart into believing lasts will never come as you hurry through the moment, only to realize later and regret your inattention.

If I had only known at the time when I would last hold Micah like a teddy bear on my shoulder all through the night because he desperately needed my comfort . . . but I was too exhausted and longed too strongly to just sleep by myself—I missed savoring the last. If I had only known at the time when I would last smile at the “milk-drunk” smiles on their faces . . . but I was too hurried to notice and enjoy the last.

If only I had known at the time when Gideon would last lay contentedly in my arms with his bottle . . . but I had too much going on and was too inconvenienced to hold him tighter.

If I had only known at the time what day it would last be just my oldest and I . . . but I focused too much on what needed done to make a memory with him.

Each day brings with it 1440 momma minutes . . . and lasts may slip into those minutes. I am trying to learn to watch for them, to savor the moments—even when my heart is tired, exhausted, or frustrated. I’ve missed too many lasts because I was too busy to notice. I don’t want to miss more because of my own selfishness.

I know that someday, it will be the last time Gideon comes running and presses his forehead to my lips because he needs a kiss—I don’t want to miss the last.

I know that someday, it will be the last time Gator just needs rocked to sleep—I don’t want to miss the last.

I know that someday, there will be the last “Gideon Sandwich” (my husband and I put him between us and make one big bear hug with him in the middle)—I don’t want to miss the last.

I know that someday, Micah will no longer giggle as he tries to grab my nose (he is fascinated with facial features at the moment)—I don’t want to miss the last.

I’ve missed too many lasts because I’ve been focused on me and what I want. Oh how I wish I could reverse the clock and tuck that moment into my memory vault! Time allows for second chances . . . but there is a catch: there are no do-overs, only the opportunity to learn and do better the next time. So, I’ve resolved to stop and enjoy these precious moments—even when they are inconvenient—because I don’t want to miss a last.

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I took this picture the other day. Micah knows how to go to sleep on his own, he has a routine. But most days, he simply needs his momma to hold him tightly and rock him to sleep just once during the day. I could fight him to sleep on his own in his crib, I could brush him aside and continue with my tasks, but he needs me today and someday he won’t. I had things to do, but I don’t want to miss the last time he needs me to hold him tight as he drifts to sleep . . . so we snuggled and savored the moment. I know I will never regret setting aside a task to enjoy the gifts God has given me for only a season. . . and I know that I do regret deeply the moments I failed to do so . . .

Dear Momma friend, we have been given 1440 Momma Minutes every day—and many are filled with tasks, irritations, exhaustion, and business. But please don’t forget that many minutes will also be filled with lasts. You will never regret taking a moment to hug, to kiss, to play, to soothe . . . but you will regret grumbling through a last. Resolve to stay on the alert—to set aside business and emotions so you can enjoy the little lasts before they fade softly into the shadows of your memory.

What reminds you to watch for the quiet lasts?

MotherhoodCarrie1 Comment