This morning it's Sunday, Mother's day. Harper is a whole two and a half weeks old. We're not going to church yet with the baby. My poor husband is burning up with a fever that he's had for the past three days. So the morning is going something like this; Harper is fed, now to fix french toast and blueberries for three hungry little bears. I check Josh's temperature, still high and I put a cool cloth on his head. I really want some tea but I can't find a clean tea cup. My thoughts are disjointed going from one worry and task to the next. I check my email and realize I've missed Kindergarten pre-registration for Ella. I carry some laundry to Ella's room where I can barely walk as it seems that they've made a floor covering using every book they own. I wonder why do I keep 'doing' when I need to be resting and meditating on my Lord and what He wants from me today. I can hear the girls fighting over a fairy coloring book so I mediate that and remind them that our chore/behavior chart has a lot more sad faces than stars. I realize my shirt is half soaked in breast milk and my eyes are shadowed and heavy. I try to get a quick shower. My leg is half shaved when Harper starts to wail from his basket so now the girls are coming in trying to shove his pacifier in. The volume is rising and I'm hurrying. "It's like a bathroom party in here," Ella says.
Harper wanted to get up about every hour last night and I'm craving a little quiet. The day goes down hill from here. Josh's fever won't come down and now he is looking slightly yellow. After a small discussion we decide a trip to the ER is in order. The rhythm of our house is off with the papa out of commission and a very tired mama who has a very new baby who really just wants to nurse or snuggle all the time. We're in a funk and the kids attitudes are showing it, and so is mine. I'm pulling on my mantras, "His mercy is new... every morning."
**Back to finish this post. There may be some interrupted blogging around here for awhile.**
Later that night when kids are asleep and husband is lying in some hospital bed with his mom by his side, I sit in my garden with Harper. We sit out on the swing in the night time air with just garden lights and stars. It smells of damp earth and summer. His tiny new fingers curl around my bottom lip and his just seeing eyes look up at me, my irresistible boy all balled up like he was inside me. My heart swells with an indescribable love for this brand new life. All I can think about is that this is what it is all about...this thing of mothering. Giving birth is just a symbol of all that will follow, the growing, the breaking, the struggle bringing forth life and beauty and relationship and all that comes with it. Cooling a fevered head, mediating fights, giving, serving, messing up, snapping, saying I'm sorry, helping to shape and teach and grow. With body and soul, bleeding, feeding, loving. It is not glamorous or easy but is real, human, deep and rich and it is a gift every day that I'm entrusted with these little people. Even in my weariness I am overwhelmed by the love and the blessing. I'm so thankful for these children who have helped me become more of who I am in Christ, and have kept me humble in having a very clear view of my brokenness. And I'm so thankful for the amazing mothers in my life. Where would I be with out them?
I read this today and loved it.
"Inside the frames, the bodies, the souls of our children, reside the children still to come. And the children then still to come.
Like nestled dolls, future generations dwell within the child whose eyes I now look into, whose hands I now touch.
Every day we parent not one child, or even a few children, but every day we parent innumerable, countless children.
When I raise my voice, frustrated with a child, I speak to generations of children.
When I wipe away a tear, comfort, listen, I honor centuries of children.
When we meet our children, children we will not live to meet on this earth, are met, shaped, formed. Parented."
~Ann Voskamp~
