It’s 3 am and we haven’t slept yet. Swaying back and forth, back and forth. The floors creak. My body is weary, and my mind is done. You and me, we’ve been doing this dance for too long. Too many nights. Too many hours. Deep breath.
I pray, and sing, and rock, squat, bounce, lunge, Shhh…
6am comes and I can’t tell if I slept last night or not, but you’re wide awake and so, I am too.
Coffee helps with the sting of the sunlight this morning. Yoga pants, a head band, and concealer hide the after effects. Lots and lots of concealer. I’d wear sunglasses but we live in Seattle and it’s winter.
Closing my eyes, I feel the warmth of my coffee in my hands. I remember back to before you were born, sweet boy. I had this aching for you. I longed to love you. To hold you and feel your squishy body and laugh with you. But I never knew how much I would love you. I never knew. How could I? No one could prepare me. There are no words to describe the vast array of emotions and growth and madness and change and bodily fluids and it all.
Laying here with you now, reading a book, and playing with your toys, I see you yawn. We both know that’s your first cue that you are tired and nap time is nearing. This excites me because Lord know’s I’m tired and need to shut off for a few minutes. Change your diaper, swaddle you, dim the lights, pray, sing Amazing Grace, and you fight it. You begin to cry. You pinch my face, and scream. “Oh baby, please, baby baby.” Mama needs a nap too.
I feel my frustration boil up. I just want this to stop. I want life to be simple. Why do my days consist of survival? My job is taking care of your basic needs, but in doing so I completely surrender my own. WHY IS NO ONE PAYING ME TO BREASTFEED YOU?! Seriously. Farmers make money off of milking cows, where is MY paycheck!? Go to sleep, child of mine.
And then, deep breath..let it all boil out. Scrape the anger and selfishness off. It doesn’t belong inside. Throw it away. Motherhood has been so deeply sanctifying. It exposes my insides, and if I let go long enough, God helps clean them out.
We both settle and eventually you fall asleep in my arms. You refuse to let me move or put you down. Each time I try, you stir. So in survival mode, I lay there letting my arms fall asleep so that we can both rest. Thirty minutes pass and finally my mind quiets enough to begin to doze off.
Deep breath, you’re awake again. Eating, again. We start this dance all over, again.
But I keep reminding myself — it’s not about me. It’s about love. You sweet one, teach me to love more deeply each day. You stretch my heart and my capacity. You are so tiny and so powerful. Thank you.
You are worth it. No matter what, I’ll love you, little one.
Rise Up Mamas 