Who can resist a little girl in polka dots?

I had a little thought this morning.  It's personal.  I almost don't want to post it here.  But I think I will.

I looked at little Eleanor Carolyn, and I thought how thankful I am for her.  She's fun.  She's sweet.  Not that that isn't also true of my other children, but I tend to be slow to come around to things, and my adjustment to motherhood has been slow and grueling at times.

I recall that sometime last year --I can't quite remember just when-- I was struggling, treading water, and having a particularly hard time with life.  Not for any particular reason, or even any good reason.  It's just the way life is sometimes, I think.  So I started to pray for joy.  Joy in my children, joy in my life.  There I was, trying to figure out how to love and care for three boys-- two who were so little, both still nursing, needing me so much.  I didn't want to hate it.  I didn't want to feel the air being slowly squeezed out of my lungs. Then I was pregnant again, and I was sure I was really going to drown.

So I kept praying --desperately imploring God-- for joy.  I thought it would elude me forever.

So I looked at Eleanor this morning, and I laughed out loud.  My Heavenly Father --I think HE laughed out loud-- heard my prayer and answered it.  "Here's some joy." He said.  "Joy in the form of a sweet baby girl."  He knows me well, of course.  He knew I wouldn't be happy at first.  He knew I would cry.  He knew I would complain.  He knew the work would be hard.

I was (and am) more overwhelmed than ever.

And more joyful.

To refresh my joy in motherhood by increasing my motherhood?  Only God can pull off a stunt like that.