a family affair

It's a family affair. 

Almost ritualistic, after dinner, we find our spots on the sofa in the living room. We barter for position (I'll let you hold my doll if I can have that pillow) and we eventually settle in to place. 

The Olympics. I remember doing the same with my parents. Cheering for Mary Lou Retton, Flo-Jo, and Greg Louganis.

I watch as my girls are captivated by the beautiful artistry and grace of the US Ladies Gymnastics team.  I giggle and cheer wildly as they pretend to walk the balance beam and do somersaults through the living room. My little Olympians. 

While they're cheering for Michael, Aly and Gabby, I find myself captivated by Debbie, Lynn and Natalie.

Also known as Mom.

The emotion on their faces tells a story in a tenth of a second. The fear is familiar. The pride is contagious.

That's their baby. And I get it. 

I watch my own babies and even at a young age, their experiences are vast. Some painful. Some pleasant. Some packed with so much joy that their little bodies can't keep up with the excitement. The story is unfolding. 

I do what I can to prepare them but with each day, it seems the gap widens a little bit more. I berate myself for the moments when I lost my temper or didn't give my full attention. I cherish the memories when they were too young to walk or talk and they needed me for everything. Some days I crave that dependence again. Some days I want to do it all over again. To hear their tiny heartbeat as it thumps against my own in the dark of the night while the gentle hum of our breaths rocks us both to sleep. 

But life moves at a pace that is too fast for my soul to keep up with. And I know that one day, too soon, I will be resigned to watching from the stands. I will watch as they step up on the beam and begin the delicate dance. I will hide my eyes, tense up, cheer, yell, remember to breathe. 

So, for now, I take a step back and hold my breath while they are learning to jump. And with each jump, I am learning to take my fears to Christ instead of piling them on the backs of my children.