This is a post I wrote about babies one and two between the birth of babies two and three – that now applies to my mornings with babies two and three (except that I am not currently expecting a fourth). And the wheel just keeps on turning…
I woke up at 5 heavy-hearted and uncomfortable in my bed. I prayed, cruised Facebook for a while, made a mental checklist for today, prayed some more and finally dozed back off at 6. We all slept until almost 8 this morning, and I felt pretty grateful for that. Marilee woke up all fluffy haired, puffy-eyed, and happy. Adelle was still sound asleep at 8:15 when I went to close her door. I felt pretty grateful for all of those things, too.
I brewed coffee, watched pudgy hands wave goodbye to Daddy out the window, poured cereal for the pudgy hands to eat on all morning, and heard the pitter patter of little big girl feet down the hall. Hugs were exchanged by all, celebrations were had for late sleep-in mornings, and juice was prepared. Somewhere around this point, I looked over to see the pudgy hands pulling a cup of juice off the counter. There was nothing that could be done at that point. Sticky juice – all over the kitchen floor.
Here is where the happy, lazy morning came to an abrupt stop. I fussed at Marilee in a way that I’m pretty sure no 18 month old really understands, but this very same thing happened yesterday morning. Yesterday, y’all. Sticky juice – all over the dining room rug – as I was preparing breakfast. She reaches, grabs, climbs – all the time. I can’t keep up with it, and I’m beginning to get pretty frustrated and EXTREMELY nervous about adding an infant to the mix around the time that her abilities become more impressive. Adelle knelt in front of the juice spill saying things like, “Now I don’t have anymore juice. Why are you, like, slamming the paper towels? Marilee’s coming back in the kitchen.” My best bet, at that point, was to stay mostly silent and give the shortest answers possible. Marilee stood at the kitchen entrance crying, arms up begging to be held. My coffee sat on the counter, staring at me as I mopped, reminding me that it was rapidly losing its cozy warmth.
Monsters Inc. is our distraction of choice this morning. Well, it’s theirs. Mine was the Jimmy Fallon/Justin Timberlake History of Rap number. As I watched it, I couldn’t help but lament, once again, that The Tonight Show comes on SO DARN LATE. We are in bed asleep by 10 pm, y’all. Every night. And we don’t DVR. So, looks like I’ll just keep enjoying clips and wishing for more. Jimmy Fallon is one of the funniest people in the history of ever.
But I digress.
Between the heavy-heartedness and my ability to slip so quickly from snuggly morning bliss into cranky pants, mean mommy over spilled juice – one thing is glaringly clear…I need Jesus. I need Him at 5 am when the worry and the fear sneak in, at 8 am when the day calls me forth, at 8:15, 8:30, and 9 when life’s little hiccups point straight to my weaknesses. I need Him at 9:15 when I get a text that The Hunk will, surprise!, be home later than usual because he forgot to tell me about a racket ball game. And I have to decide whether be a witchy poo about it or be gracious because, really, I’m glad he’s doing something for himself – I’m just annoyed that his plans make mine a little more difficult to accomplish today. And he’s the easiest target at which to point my spilled juice frustration.
Remember that today, ladies, whether you are at a job that you hate or one that you love – and the deadlines are pressing in and you have spilled juice on your pretty pants because you did the whole morning mommy routine in addition to your other job. Remember it if you are still in your jammies at nearly 10 am with a squirmy fuzz head in your lap and on your keyboard and a monotony that threatens to turn each day into an eternity. Remember that you have a responsibility to love and lead your babies well, to graciously and gracefully serve your man. Do remember all those things, but also remember that when you run into a wall of “I cannot do this for one more second,” God cares about the Mama sheep, and walls aren’t really a big thing for Him.