Parenting cost me a window.
Last weekend, I got it back.
When our second daughter was due in 2010, I gave up my home office. Hubby and I converted my work space to a yellow flowered nursery with a La-Z-Boy rocker and pink blossom curtains. My desk, consequently, got demoted to the corner of our dim and chilly basement.
Of course my daughter needed the room more than I did.
But not anymore.
Today both girls are big enough to play downstairs without Mom hovering over their heads. They can traverse the steps without tripping. They’re not likely to shove forks into electrical sockets or eat paper scraps off the floor. We’ve reached a new era, halleluiah! My kids are ready for their own space—which means I can reclaim mine.
So we spent a Saturday converting a child’s room back into an office, and sequestering toys from every cranny of the house into one large and luxurious playroom downstairs. Now the girls have freedom to spread their LEGOs and Hot Wheels and coloring books galore, while I sit like a fat queen in my leather office chair basking in the direct sunlight of a window—dressed in chic new linen curtains, courtesy of World Market—on sale, people, yay!
Yesterday I spun in that chair and took a good look around—at this room, where I once stumbled, prickly eyed, to lift a hungry newborn from her crib. Where I changed diaper after loaded diaper and wrestled skinny octopus arms into fleece sleepers. Here I sprayed for invisible bears at bedtime and picked doll shoes off the rug. In this room, I learned how big a heart can swell with love for another child, this little sister who stretched our world even as she shrunk the house to half its size.
This room is mine again.
Yet I realized it will always be hers.
Our baby days are gone. The toys are tucked out of sight. Enter our front doors and you’d think grown-ups actually live here—such progress! But the lady who sits in her office today is not the same one who left it four years ago, praise God, praise GOD. One thing I know for certain is that no matter how intentionally and wholeheartedly I may raise my children, they will always grow me more. And I think that is God’s design.
Parenting changes us.
It demands from us.
It pays back more than it takes.
Today my payment comes in the form of a window—a hard-earned bit of sun. Yet part of me misses the nursery, the toy room that once filled this space.
So . . . call me nostalgic or practical or nuts.
I kept a corner of it.
Yep. I now share my home office with a seven-year-old.
Because I’m a mom.
And it’s the best job in the world.
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