The Joy Full Mom

I don’t always feel like being a mom is a blessing. Some days it feels more overwhelming. I was 22 when my first daughter was born and truth be told I wasn’t ready. Emotionally, spiritually I hadn’t matured enough to be responsible for raising up this little human. Yet, the scriptures called me to joy. To “be prepared to give an account for the joy that is within you.”

Postpartum: mom of 3

Breast milk is flaking off in a dried patch on my stomach. I can’t even see it underneath my enormously swollen left breast. I need to find the Haaka to pump. I tiptoe in the dark but wake the baby anyway. I pump while she nurses. Five and a half ounces heck yea. She falls asleep on my chest after burping.

“I told you to get cereal for you and your sister” and my tone is sharper this time as it’s the fifth time I’ve asked. It takes the eighth time shouting before captain crunch bowls are out on the counter. The right side of my stretch mark scarred stomach covers in warm egg yolk while I’m requesting the toddler get on her socks. It’s the baby spitting up all she ate plus her body weight it feels like down the exposed skin of my side. Baby wipe it up. No time to change for the pediatrician. Not impressing anyone there. All three have colds. The older two get a break from school but the baby is just miserable. We haven’t slept in two days

it’s December and the Herald angels sing.

Thank God for Walmart pickup and grandma. I cry in the empty car, twenty minutes is simply too long. Back with my feet up on the ottoman, baby is latched, and I cry. If I could just have five minutes to myself. Hot shower water and hot coffee loosen all the joints and I can answer calmly now. I’m always shouting. I don’t want them to remember an angry mommy. I get toddler popsicle kisses and handed the dirty tissues and am old enough to wipe tears from a terrified 7 year old who never wants to menstruate. It’s not even noon.

And the Herald angels sing.

I’ve wanted to paint my nails for two months but they’re brittle and break anyway it’s been 18 months since I had a haircut 8 years since I slept through the night my husband wants another and the blood is still flowing from the last but we’ve had sex four times

Hark the herald angels

The laundry is never put away. It’s either stinking in the laundry room or folded in piles all over the couch and ottoman. Pause to nurse the baby. Take a few more piles. Fold a few more hand fulls. Stop to change the baby. Frozen II’s “Into the Unknown,” comes floating in melodic shouts from the older girls’ room. The toddler runs out to the living room in her big sister’s dress. Twirls. Asks if she’s beautiful with her head tilted and plump not quite baby hands propped against her cheeks. Baby is asleep on my chest after nursing. She grunts and farts. Stirs in response to the sing shouting. I only pump an ounce in the Hakka. Look longingly at my water bottle still half full on the island counter. But I kiss her head and stay put. If I could just get up to pee. The toddler makes a skipping lap around the island. This time it’s Rudolph the red nosed reindeer. It’s barely past noon.

And Heaven and nature sing.

I’ve two babies in heaven and at first I was angry then I was both and finally just sad. But not anymore. My body has held life five times, five times the ru’ach of God breathed inside me, but only three times has it walked and skipped and leapt and sang shouts of Disney songs.

And heaven and nature sing

I run exclusively on dark chocolate and coffee. I’ve started leaving a bag of the 3 ingredient dark chocolate morsels within reach in the pantry so as I scurry by it I can tip it into my mouth and suck on a mouth full until I get to pass by it again. I always have to pee. And almost never have time, or the baby is in my arms. I bounce on one leg in front of the sink holding it while I rinse dinner plates clean. Husband holds her. I pee and splash water on my face. She stirs in his arms and mine ache for her kettlebell weight against my chest. I smile at myself before scurrying back to her, a mouth full of dark chocolate washes what’s left of my cold coffee from breakfast down. I snug her in and unclip a boob and listen to her older sisters yell at each other, while the baby roots against my leaking nipple, between musical numbers in the tub.

*

Some moments are so full of warmth they entirely erase the soffits of stress. Moments my babies, just weeks old squishy and fresh, slept soundly in my arms. Little kettlebell weights breathing softly and sighing grunts of content bellies full.

As not babies the moments are still full. Our oldest cries anytime she hears Billy Joel because we used to sing her “Goodnight, my Angel” before bed. She comes walking flat footed like her dad from her bedroom against the hardwood thumping toward the couch crying loudly and sinks down next to me begging to be snuggled. The baby stirs in my arms and I shush her big sister while nestling her head between my collar bone and chin. Wipe the snot running down her face with a burp cloth and toss it to the floor. We take several slow deep breaths. The toddler has hopped beside us and is trying to appear sad through the glee of being out of bed and tries quickly to appear sad to get snuggled too. Sadness is not required for snuggles I remind her. I kiss all three of their heads.

It’s January, and the Herald angels have sung. A cold wind dances between the shingles and the masonry and creeps along the floorboards. Our fireplace marches against the cold blazing flames behind the glass door.

And Heaven and nature sing, and Heaven and nature sing. and Heaven, and Heaven and nature. sing.

The Son of God came to earth to save me. He came as a baby. As a baby cradled in his mother’s arms in the warmth of a desert December night. He came to forgive me for my anger, my selfishness, vanity, and greed. Humbly he came. He made himself obedient to the point of death -even the death of the cross. Humbly he died.

But his death gave me life.

And Heaven and nature sing.