Goodnight, Christmas Baby.

It's one of those Mommyhood moments again. One of those times when I'm not sure if I've completely lost it or if maybe, just maybe, I'm doing it exactly right. Bittersweet is the perfect word to describe how it feels being a Mommy. Jubilant and torturous all at once: laying a perfect baby in her bed. Wishing her Goodnight. And kissing away her babyhood.


Tomorrow she is one. My heart bursts and breaks.


Today was a good day. A fantastic Christmas full of wonder and joy. I treasure moments like these; when both of my girls are happy and healthy and home. This evening I took my precious baby up the stairs and with every step, I thought of how wonderful the day had been, how I cherished her first Christmas, and how I wished I could somehow freeze time and stay here for just a bit longer. But as I laid her down and tucked her in bed, I realized her first Christmas has passed, right along with her first year of life.


Tomorrow she is one. My spirit soars and aches.


Too big now to swaddle and swing. Too busy for cuddles. Too fast to let out of my sight. My precious Annie, growing and changing and taking my breath away everyday. I long for the way she used to feel, heavy in my arms but not so much that I thought they might break. I yearn for the little baby sounds of suckles and coos. I miss the quietness and stillness of her infancy. But change is good, I know. She's becoming a toddler. And in another blink she will be a pre-schooler; a breath away from being a real life big kid. She's growing up. Because that's what babies do. And I know we will have grand adventures. And we will make wonderful memories. And we will live our dreams. Starting tomorrow.


But tonight, she is not one. She is my baby. I smile through happy, hurting tears.

Goodnight, my sweet Christmas Baby. Sleep tight. Tomorrow you'll be a whole year older.
Plump baby cheeks will fade. Mischief and discovery and laughter and tears all await. But tonight, sleep peacefully, Lovely One, and grow a year older while you dream.

Morning

It's grey outside still. That pre-dawn early light filters through the window, barely enough to make out a tiny baby hand; a pudgy ball on my chest. Quiet time. Quiet baby. Quiet sister. Quiet breathing, slow and deep.

This is Mommy hour. Mommy's time to think. Mommy's time to absorb. Time to hold you and rock you. To smell your hair and your breath and the sweet spot on the back of your neck. Time to feel. To feel adoration for the incredible little being you are. To feel inadequate and appreciative. To feel awed and worried and full to the brim with wonder all at once. Time to miss you when you were smaller and dream about who you'll be when you're grown. Time to memorize the perfect little you that you are today because I know tomorrow you'll be just a fraction bigger and I can never forget the tiny you you used to be.

Sleep now. Glorious little one. Round cheeks and suckling lips. Perfection in morning haze. Time for Mommy's morning to end and the world to begin. Cover you in blankets and prayers. Listen to you and soak you in for a minute more. Mommy loves you. Oh, Mommy loves you.


Perfect morning to get me through the day.

On Motherhood and Being Good

I love this Mothering thing. I love it. I want to do it every single day (a good thing, because there's no going back once they pull that wriggling little bundle of goo-covered-bliss out of your womb). I love holding my babies. I love snuggles and hugs and sticky cheeked kisses. I love funny sayings and letter drawing and growing-up-wonderment. I love the profound and shockingly deep emotions that come with being a Mommy. The unending love. The fierce protectiveness that overshadows fear. The strength that comes from knowing that your babies need you, so you must press on, move forward, give a little more.

I love loving my girls.

But I won't pretend it's easy. It's exhausting. It's every second of every day. A constant, full-time, wonderful and really real job. The very nature of children is to be infinitely needy. I have loved meeting those needs with every second of my existence for the past three years. I have loved it and I have done it well. No apologies, no excuses, no regrets.

I may be an imperfect person. But that doesn't mean I am not good.

I am a good Mommy. (But only recently am I strong enough to admit it.)

I am an up-at-dawn, all day, inexhaustible force for these babies. I am a pace-all-night with a screaming infant, Mommy. I am a down on my knees, playing and sharing and praying, Mommy. I am a Not until you eat your vegetables; It's time for bed, now; I know you're mad but Mommy loves you, Mommy. I will fight for what is best for them. I will protect them from any pain they can be spared. I will be a constant in their lives. I will hold them together. I will grow with them. I will learn with them. I will pray for them; pray for them with every breath, because I know that where I am insufficient, there stands a God who loves them more than I do and has infinite power and patience and wisdom and strength where mine fail.

I know that I am a good Mommy.

Why is it so difficult to admit that???

If I was to be reviewed by panel of Mommy-ing experts, I would score pretty well on the Mommy Scale. But I know I'm not alone in saying that there are times I have serious doubts about the job I'm doing. All it takes is a look-see on Facebook or a stroll through the Pinterest world, where women are making organic, vegan, gluten-free and somehow fantastically tasty meals three times a day for their four perfectly kept and wonderfully behaved gorgeous, photogenic children, to realize, Dear God, I must be doing something wrong here. I have shortcomings. I am at times quite inadequate. I am not perfect. But who said I needed to be perfect, anyway?

I am making a stand now. I am shouting for all to hear: I AM GOOD.

I am strong enough to admit that it's a hard job being Mommy. I'm strong enough to admit that without good friends and amazing family support, this job would be next to impossible. And now, I am strong enough to admit to being good enough to do this. I love my children. I clean them and care for them. I listen to them and love them. I have a toddler that just looked me in the eyes and hugged me tight around the neck and said, "Mommy, I love you really a lot!"

I am good at being Mommy. And if you can read this and know that you are striving for the same then I want to encourage you:

You are a good Mommy too.

I'm so tired of feeling like I'm not good enough. So, I'm done with that. I deserve a break from the constant Mom-Guilt and my girls deserve a Mom that is unashamed and willing to admit that good doesn't mean perfect, good means accepting that perfect is unachievable and grace is sufficient to make up for the shortcomings that accompany living as a Mommy that is also *shocker* a human. As long as I keep striving to be better than I was yesterday, that is enough. That is good. I am good.

So, this one's for you, My Girlies. My Punky-Doo and Banana-Boo, thank you for making life wonderful  and beautiful, passionate and real. Thank you for your love and acceptance as we stumble through this growing-up thing together. Mommy loves you really a lot.

*happy kiss, sad kiss, sleepy kiss, loves*

Life

Life is crazy.

I'm serious. If life were a person we would have it committed. You can't trust it to stay where you put it, it goes from calm to chaos quicker than a manic episode, it bitch-slaps you when you're looking the other way. People you thought you knew; you didn't. Places you thought you'd be; you're not. The life you pictured when you first started out; kiss it goodbye. Because this life is absolutely 100% unpredictably, certifiably insane. We could theorize for days and weeks at the reasons for this: the failures on our part or on others', the sin in the world and the fall of man and the effed-up, free-willed bad decisions that have led us all to this point...but why?

Why not just embrace it instead?

I have no time to sit around and focus solely on how unfair life is. Maybe that's because I have a 3-year-old and a 3-month-old and don't have time to shower, much less put much thought into anything beyond the next 4 minutes. Maybe that's just because I really don't want to give it that much time. Maybe it's because I know deep down that spending that much time thinking really doesn't get anyone anywhere. All I know is that it won't do to sit around feeling sorry for myself. After all, we are each partially responsible for where we end up. Good or bad. Happy or sad. Most of us have some say over which bed we end up in.

So instead, most days, I choose happiness. I choose to look into my little girls' eyes and let myself feel my heart exploding with love and pride and amazement over these perfect little humans I've been blessed to know. I choose to laugh with them and play with them. I choose silliness and make believe. I choose princesses and fairy tales. I choose snuggles and rare quiet moments. I choose coos and milky smiles. I choose love and not hate.

Hate will steal these precious seconds from me. Hate will blind me to the blessings being showered down on me every minute. Hate will only destroy me in the end. It will destroy more than me, it will destroy the ones I love the most and the moments I have with them. These babies are only babies once, and only for an instant before they are grown, so I'm not going to waste it. I'm not saying it's easy. Because it's not. Keeping the hate out is nearly impossible some days.

Some days it's all I can see. All I feel is hurt and heat and betrayal. Life is so profoundly unfair!

We may have some say in where we are, but we can't control others. We can't stop them or start them. We can't change them or pray them into someone they don't want to be. So we mourn. We cry. We stomp and shout and scream to the Lord that this life is just too much some days. Because it is. Life is far too much without a Saving Grace. So it's a really good thing we have one, isn't it? It's a good thing we have a God who is big enough to handle the hard questions. One who can handle it when we scream at Him. One who doesn't get frazzled when we have an all out toddler-status temper tantrum because we feel like life is crashing down around us. One who can see into the future and who knows how this crazy life is going to turn out and can look into our souls and whisper our reassurance, I know the plans I have for you. Plans to prosper and not to harm you. Plans for a hope. Plans for a future.

It's a good thing we have One who spurs us on with whispers of hope. But don't make the mistake of being so caught up in the anger of life's injustices that you miss them. Mourn for a time and then be still. Be quiet. Listen for His reassurances. Remember that we all hurt. Some more than others, but you'd be surprised if you looked up from your own problems to see how many of us are suffering our own crazy-life whiplash wounds quietly alone together. So choose to look out, keep your head up, not for yourself but for those around you hurting the same sorts of hurt, or maybe something far worse. Remember that life is happening around you while you choose suffering and hate, and you're missing it. Remember a Redeemer is waiting for you to call out to Him that you can't do this alone.

So today I'm taking my own advice. Today (and I'm only promising today because who knows what tomorrow will bring) I am choosing to embrace the crazy that life throws at me. I am choosing to look up. I am choosing hope and love and not hate. I am choosing to appreciate the joys in my life. After all, they are more than just glimmers of light, they are explosions, and if I'm keeping my head up and keeping my focus outward, I won't miss a single moment.