You know, as mothers we should have been aware that our kids would take everything out of us from the minute we had to incorporate prenatal vitamins into our daily routines because our in-utero babies were depleting our body's lifelines. Ugh. Yes. We should have known it when our need to pee kicked into full gear that first trimester and we were vomiting our way through the day. But then those KICKS. Those wiggles. Those squirms. They just make you forget about all the depletion and then they fill your heart until it bursts with unprecedented joy. We forget that we were drained.
We should have known that those little bodies would tear us apart (for some of us... literally). Yes, we should have known they would rip right into the depths of our being, that our old selves would be stripped from us. That we would never again know the us we were without them. But then those SMILES. Those night time prayers. Those belly giggles. They just make you forget about your old self and fall into an eternal gratitude that you will never have to know life without those chubby cheeks and dimpled hands again.
Yesterday was picture perfect. It was one of those days that fill you to the brim with gratitude and make you feel innately complete. We spent the day in the sunshine. Both kids napped at the same time. The baby didn't fuss, the toddler didn't whine. While she ate supper, Abigail looked up at me and said, "Thanks for making dinner, mom." MY TWO YEAR OLD, folks. She even said her nighttime prayers beautifully and sang the most innocent rendition of "Jesus Loves Me" that I've ever heard. I got a workout in, laundry done, bottles cleaned. I went to bed feeling like I had nailed the momming gig.
Now let me tell you, what I've found in two and a half years of motherhood is that there are plentiful good days. They literally ABOUND everywhere. That's why we keep having more babies. They don't give us many rotten days. Tough moments, you bet. Tough DAYS.... rarely.
But they happen.
Enter today.
I spent the morning making Abby a house made of boxes we had from our move up north. John cried on and off throughout this as Abby asked 50,000 times if she could watch a show when he fell asleep. We persevered and got the box together. I figured once John went down for his 8:30am nap, Ab and I could go outside and paint the house.
I am, of course, a cool mom. Totally relaxed. Totally fine with messes. Totally lying to you.
John decided he was anti-nap, so we took him outside with us. I set him in a wagon with some toys and Abigail went to town painting her house. I took it upon myself to paint the outside with flowers and sunshine and a white picket fence (again, cool mom, totally relaxed).
Ya'll.... by the end of our 30 minutes outside, Abby had knocked over the water cup all over the house I built her (wet cardboard, anyone?), John had spit up literally ALL OVER HIMSELF and the wagon, and he proceeded to scream cry for a solid 20 minutes while Abby asked about watching a show again.
Dividing your attention among kids is tough. Cleaning up spit up all day is tough. Babies who boycott naps are tough. Spending 11 straight hours with your babes is tough.
But like I said... those are tough MOMENTS, not days.
I've been reflecting on the Road to Emmaus while we've been working from home and taking care of the kids.
I think that I get so caught up in talking about the HARD and reflecting on loss that I forget to notice Christ in my every day struggles and victories.
It's like Jesus himself could walk up to me and say, "What are you discussing?" and I would look at him like He's insane. "Are you the only one who hasn't heard?"
Are you the only one who hasn't heard how drained I am from splitting my time among my children?
Are you the only one who hasn't heard that my heart was torn from me the day they were born, and now they're just walking around outside of my body with nothing I can do about it?
Are you the only one who hasn't heard how isolating it is to have to feed the baby every two hours, being stuck in a chair alone?
Are you the only one who hasn't heard how many tears I have cried because the baby needs me, but so does the two year old?
We should have known.
We should have known that we were going to be drained so that we might learn the beauty in sacrifice.
We should have known our hearts would be torn from our bodies so that they might grow bigger.
We should have known that our old selves would be stripped away, so that we might learn the power of dying to self for the goodness of others.
God is here on our journey through motherhood, on our Road to Emmaus. He is there comforting one child while we care for the other. He is there with them as they wander outside of our wombs. He is there with us in the darkness as they drink from our breasts. He is there in our tears, our worries, our messy.
We should have known, by the very nature of Christianity, that our vocation would be hard.
And we should know, in that same respect, that each day is full of the Resurrection.
We get little glimpses of Heaven every time their eyes awaken and they breathe easily when they see our faces.
Motherhood makes you feel a lot of RAW emotion. Embrace it. Bring it to Emmaus. Recognize the beauty in being fully stripped, fully real, fully filled with love.
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