runaway mommy

one of my best friend is in pursuit of becoming a mother. writing that i feel cold and calculating. but it's the truth. 
and my friend is far from cold or calculating. she is webster's very definition of mother. wise, warm, whimsical, enchanting. she has mothered me for the past 23 years of my life with great care and loving attentiveness. my heart leaps every time she phones to tell me about another birth mother who is considering their profile. my heart aches every time she phones to tell me they were not chosen. 

we are indeed an interconnected community, we human beings. my pastor's wife reminds, "we are human beings, not human doings". and i bristle. i want to be able to do something. my friend is pregnant with hope and anticipation. the due date is a mystery. that is both exhilarating and exhausting. and i am not even the one going through it. i know you know what i am talking about. many of you have friends who are in the same situation. many of you are in that very situation. waiting. wondering. pursuing. chasing. despairing. 

so i was thinking about my own children. and the book the runaway bunny came to mind, that classic tale that sits on most nursery shelves. the story goes, there is a bunny who attempts to cleverly outrun his mother. but the mother, being the mother is always in hot pursuit of her baby bunny. it made me think of my best friend as she pursues her little bunny through the story of adoption. it made me consider my own bunnies and how they enjoy being pursued. and then it made me wonder. 

how often am i the runaway mommy being pursued by my boys? am i available to them? will they remember me always with a screen within my glimpse? my finger held up, "just a second." chiding, "settle down!" furrowed brows and not-so-short-motherly monologues about manners, and unkempt rooms. glazed look in my eyes as they excitedly share yet another story. 

it sobers me. to think that across a few states, my best friend is pursuing her bunny with all she has and here i am covered in motherhood, but with a postponed sense of gratitude.

lord, help me. i guess that little cardboard book still has a lesson for me.

xo,

gf