When I became a parent I didn’t dream of having conversations like this one:

E: Daddy had a booger.

Me: Oh, did he get a tissue?

E: No, I got it.

Me: You got him a tissue? How nice of you.

E: No, I got the booger.  It was yucky.

I didn’t dream of explaining the nuances of the words fart vs. gas to my almost three year old.

I didn’t dream of breaking up constant wrestling matches and fights over toys.

I didn’t dream of saying the words “be gentle” 30 times a day.

I didn’t dream of having my hair “fixed” with toy hammers and wrenches, rather than brushes and barrettes.

I didn’t dream of hearing the words “I’m a boy. I have a penis.  You’re a girl.  You no have a penis” repeated over and over again.

I didn’t dream of having toy cars and trains strewn across my floor.

I didn’t dream of the constant roar of imaginary lions and dinosaurs.

As an only child and a bit of a girly girl there are so many things I didn’t dream about.

But then there are the precious kisses at bedtime, the feeling of their faces buried deep into my neck, the warmth of their breath on my face as they fall asleep on my chest, and the beautiful freshly picked flowers shoved into my hand (“Mommy, it’s pink. Pink is for girls.”).  There are the moments when they take my breath away with smiles that light up their faces, the sound of them simply saying Mommy, and the kind words and actions that come out of nowhere.

God has a way of dreaming for us better than we could ever dream for ourselves.

I can’t wait to see all of the places this beautiful dream takes me.