We're still here, folks. Still reading bedtime stories and starting coffee and spilling cereal and watching laundry piles grow faster than they shrink. Still cheering for sunny days and fighting the pull of screen time and marveling at how quickly a clean house can un-clean itself.
I'm still pregnant, thankfully. I say this in light of preterm contractions that have slowed me down to a
The contractions have been going on for a month already, with no real explanation. I chatted with a midwife last week and she shrugged, "You're a tired mom with a tired uterus." Well, then. Guess that explains it.
And so our spring suddenly feels a lot like our fall. Me on the couch. Kids pitching in. Friends and family helping out in so many ways. Frustrated by my limits. Humbled by kindness. Thankful for this baby that is making his way soon.
My oldest said to me yesterday, "You know, it's kind of like I have a lot of moms in one. Sometimes when I wake up I wonder what mom I will have today. Happy mom? Tired mom? Sick mom? Stressed out mom?" Then he flashed a big smile and left me standing in the dining room, trying to decide what to do with his statement.
I told Garrett later that I wasn't sure if I should laugh or cry by that story (My husband's reaction to the story? "Welcome to my world, kid.") It's hard to accept that where I'm at is so obvious, that I'm not some sort of pillar of emotional resolve, shielding my kids from the ways that this time is wearing on me. I know my oldest is more perceptive than most, and I know he feels deeply, but there's a reality that who I am, where I'm at, and my health in that moment will impact all my kids.
Thankfully, I'm far enough down the parenting road to realize that this too shall pass. I know we're in a season. I know that their lasting impression of me will be built on more than this pregnancy. I know that they are resilient and strong and quick to love and forgive me through the rainy days. And I also know that it's good for them to see me wrestle with my limits, watch me strain to rest, witness me labor to trust God and fight the tendencies toward worry and fear. My humanness- and my battle against it- is good for them. They probably learn more about following Jesus from these emotional days where it all spills out than they do from the well- hidden, tucked away, managing-to-keep-it-all-together days that I miss.
So here's to living life in front of our kids, living it in a raw and honest way that convinces them of their mom's need for Jesus and assures them of their God's great goodness to never give up on her.
Here's to family confession and asking forgiveness and hugs and tears and "Jesus help us" as our family motto.
Here's to knowing that my frailty will not break them, will not wreck us, does not really surprise anyone but me.
Here's to life from the couch, where the company is lively and the days are steady, where the quiet and the noise are both the soundtrack of my life.
Here's to the waiting, the hoping, the sweet anticipation of a new life.
And here's to you and the lessons you may be learning or fighting, the people your own journey affects, the season you find yourself in. May you embrace your own frailty and find sweet rest in God's goodness to you.