Beauty

When I sat down to write this post, I thought I would regale you with tantrum-tales from our weekend. Our beloved three year old is very, very, three. It ain't pretty.

It is as if some sort of invasion of the body snatchers thing has occurred to my previously sweet little guy.

Three.

But when I sat down and looked at my pictures from this sun-shiny almost-warm weekend - they weren't ugly-red-faced-tantrum photos, they were remarkably lovely photos.

The first flowers are pushing their way up.

Look at his face. Delighted by crocuses.

There were the melt-a-mama's-heart moments where father and son played catch. Forging a bond I can't even begin to understand, but am so lucky and grateful to witness.

So sweet it hurts.

Then I was given a few child-free hours to visit a most beloved friend who is surviving those last torturous weeks of pregnancy. Despite her discomfort, she is stunningly beautiful - glowing.

We exchanged much-belated Christmas gifts - and her gift of an air hockey table for the boys resulted in yet another beautiful moment:

Not hitting each other!

So I sit here, humbled by this remarkably clear insight: the ugly times, the painful times, the times marred by stretchmarks and tantrums, when we grow in a way we don't think we can possibly survive - these times are so beautiful, if you only stop to look.