I have yet to buy diapers.
People have been so unbelievably kind to me since I’ve had the baby. (Not that they weren’t kind before, but you know what I mean.)
I can’t even begin to numerate how many times I have heard the doorbell ring and then heard Luke holler down the hallway,
“Mom! Somebody else is here with something for Jane!”
Meals, handmade booties, outfits, diapers, checks, pizzas, packages, you name it. (In fact, I think I should formally introduce myself to the UPS man, he’s been here so many times since Jane was born.)
The kids are in heaven. I’ve found that when people bring you a meal, they bring you their best–pull out all the stops, so to speak. Let’s just say my kids had never had alfredo sauce before, and they like it. They didn’t know you could put cream cheese into enchiladas or top a french toast casserole with a buttery, cinnamony pecan crumble. Who knew? Certainly their mother didn’t. It’s not uncommon for them to come to the dinner table with knife and fork in hand and eagerly ask, “So, who’s bringing us dinner tonight?!”
My sister-in-law called me from Costco last week to ask if I needed anything. I said no, we were fine. She managed to misunderstand my statement completely and showed up in my kitchen an hour later unloading diapers, wipes, fruit, Pirate Booty, a jar of Nutella, rolls, plus a homemade meal she had made herself that morning. This was her version of “bringing over a meal to somebody.” So sweet.
Another one of my dear sisters-in-law stood in my hospital room last month and asked if dinner at home was taken care during my stay there. I hadn’t really thought about it and she said she would go ahead and “drop off a few things.” My husband and mother came home to a refrigerator and freezer stocked with every single one of Costco’s pre-prepared delectable meals to see them through the week. When I got home, Luke asked me in all seriousness if his aunt was my personal servant.
Then there is my sweet friend and neighbor who read my last post (the one where I shamelessly griped about not having professional cleaning help?) and showed up on my doorstep the next day with a Rubbermaid tub of cleaning supplies and her own five children to help us tidy up a bit. I was half mortified and thought, “I have got to learn to shut my big blogging bazoo!!” But how do you say no to darling blond girls with bright smiles and bristly brooms? (And this friend is such a saint, she kept thanking me for giving her and her children the opportunity to serve. Me!) How do you say thank you for something like that? I mean, she scrubbed the petrified pancake batter off of my kitchen cabinets! The words “thank you” for a gesture that huge seemed so trite and insufficient, I didn’t know what else to say, so I just kept saying them over and over again, hoping that by mere repetition I could somehow give more weight to the two tiny syllables.
The point is, yesterday as I was holding my bitty 10 pound pink burrito in my arms, I thought about what life must be like for her, being so small, being lifted up and carried around by giants all day. And then I thought, is my life so different? Am I not also surrounded by giants? Angelic giants who surround me, lift me up, and carry me around all day?
May we all have such giants in our lives.
I can only hope one day a little boy confuses me for his mother’s personal servant too.