My mornings are no longer quiet. I'm feeding a baby, or pumping, or both. I'm getting Little Miss breakfast because she's "so starving, mama!" I'm consoling infant screams. I'm trying to find my sanity because at times it feels as if maybe I simply misplaced it, and it isn't actually gone forever... The days of sitting in my favorite spot on the couch and watching the sun come up in the morning while I drink my hot coffee are long gone. Part of that is because the sun starts to rise before 5:00 a.m. No thank you. If my coffee is hot, it's the rare day I had a few spare seconds to 1) make some and 2) zap it in the microwave four times after running around caring for cries, coos, and cuddle requests. No, I wouldn't trade it for anything. I also wouldn't turn down a morning where I could sit on the sofa in my favorite spot and enjoy the quiet still of a day dawning.
|How *awesome* would it be, if this were actually the sunrise view from my sofa?!|
Having Little Man here is such a beautiful mess. I get lost in his little expressions. I try to decipher every grunt and squeak. I melt with every one of his sleepy smiles. I question if it's really necessary for him to rear his head back like a showy wild stallion and try to fly backwards out of my arms. He seems to think so. I fret over every what-if. We've had issues worthy of concern. He couldn't ride in a normal car seat until he was almost six weeks old. He couldn't maintain his oxygen level enough to sit for extended periods in one, and we were essentially home-bound with him during that time, due to the not-so-convincingly-safe car seat bed we had in the meantime. He has a hearing loss in both ears, though we're unsure as to what degree. His mouth is slightly inhibited in the way of his cheek, lip, and tongue function. More appointments. More tests. More worry for mama. Even the "normal" issues give rise to concern. Did he poop too much today? Not enough? Did I remember to do tummy time? Was Little Miss this gassy? Are his feet cold? How is it possible he's hungry again? Will he ever stop crying? Ever?
I watch him squirm, sleep, and scream and I find myself wondering, "Is this how Harlynn would have been? Would she have loved being held this much? Would her smile have been as sweet? Would she have been a spitter-upper?" I stare at, fall head-over-heels for, and adore my son. And I intensely miss my daughter. Does she know him? Is she the reason he smiles in his dreams? Will she ever visit me in mine?
I run on half-empty (or half-full, depending on your personality type...) at all times. "Babies are a lot of work" as Little Miss so eloquently put it. I have more moments of chaos than of calm. One weekend morning, as Brent was trying to let me sleep a little longer, I heard him exasperatedly say , "I just want to eat my breakfast!" I giggled to myself. Oh how familiar those words are to me every. single. morning. Some days, lunch is my breakfast.
Just yesterday, I pulled a real doozy. We were trying to leave the house to make it to dinner at the home of some dear friends of ours. Little Miss was already at their house, so it was just us adults, and Little Man needing to be on our way. Coincidentally (ha!), right as it was time to leave, Little Man became hungry. As he screamed from his car seat, I realized I didn't have my socks or shoes on. Also, suddenly, I had to pee. I grabbed a pair of socks from my dresser before going into the bathroom to relieve myself. When I was done, I flung the socks across my shoulder, flushed the toilet, and turned to the sink to wash my hands. My dancing-jazz-type-turn was too much centrifugal force, the top sock kept going once I stopped, and went right down the toilet. I saw the whole thing. There was nothing I could do. There went my sock. Destination: sewer. I just flushed a cotton Hanes sock down the toilet. The toilet. My sock. Who does that?! Apparently I do. I grabbed another pair, threw myself together, and off we went. I am a mother who just flushed her own sock down the toilet. Lord, protect my children in this life, because I'm not sure I'll do all too swell a job at it...
I try to take it all in stride: the slip-ups, the sleep deprivation, the screaming, the.....screaming... My stride resembles more of a botched square-dance routine, however. Swing around, do-si-do, accidentally elbow someone or something, spin more circles, get dizzy, stomp a foot, clap, smile...smile... SMILE! Why are you crying? Why am I crying? Who made who cry, here? Yep. Stride.
I am convinced that even though Adam and Eve rebelled against God in Eden, He took pity on them. You know how it is when your child disobeys or misbehaves and you follow through in disciplining them. Even though they were just a total stinker, it breaks your heart a little to lay down the law. I believe what Genesis doesn't tell us, is after He issued the consequences of sin, He said, "Let there be butter. Let there be cocoa. Let there be coffee bean, milk fat, and greasy burgers. Because I know (hence the phrase: "Lord knows") in the raising of their beloved children, they won't survive some days without these." And it was so. All of it was so. So very.....so.
Through the celebrations, through the grief, through the crazy, and through the calm, I'm working on my stride. Mommy loves you, Harlynn. Mommy loves all three of her kids so stinkin' much.
Now...where's that blasted cocoa?
|Michelle Warren Photography|