Reminding Myself to Remember the Moments

I just had one of those mommy moments that I need to document before it becomes lost with the thousands of other fleeting mommy moments I don't remember anymore. The moments that have become mixed up in the haze of "motherhood is so hard and I think I am going to drown." The perfect moments that I am too tired to notice.

That's what is funny about  being a mom. As women, we are emotional creatures. As moms of small babies, we are more often than not hormonal (some suffering from PPD or PPA), driven by estrogen imbalances, our perception of reality a little bit skewed and tinted by our post-partum consciousness. We reason with feelings, suspicions, love, and "mama instincts" rather than logic. We cry because we are happy and because we are sad.  I know that for myself, personally, I tend to let the negative emotions overshadow the positive ones. In this crazy world (another dimension, if you ask me) of having two under two, I find myself letting the chaos and the sleep deprivation and the mundane tasks of motherhood outshine the precious moments that should bring me joy.

Well, I just had a moment that I don't want to forget. I am determined to make it last; to carefully pack it away in a section of my mind where it can't be erased by stress or exhaustion.

Those of you who know me well know that I solo parent most nights. My husband works a job that has him gone during dinner time and bedtime, so I am on my own with the two girls. Each morning I wake up already dreading the evenings. Let me tell you, sometimes I think I would rather bus dishes at a dirty bar than attempt to make dinner, clean up from dinner, give baths to two little girls, get two little girls ready for bed, and put two little girls down to sleep ALL BY MYSELF. I don't know if it is their closeness in age or my fragile mental state that makes it so difficult, but oh my word, IT IS SO HARD. (I am being real and raw here, people.)

For one thing, Max is a fussy and particular little baby. She often starts crying each night around 7:30--the time I start getting Willa ready for bed. No matter how hard I try to prepare for bedtime, plan in advance with pajamas and teeth brushing, early baths or postponed dishes, Maxine always seems to end up crying right when I am trying to put Willa down to sleep. Willa won't sleep when Max is crying, so it is my goal to get her to stop crying so Willa can go down. It's a stupid little game, really. Back and forth I go, feeling like a chicken with her head cut off. Scurrying from child to child, trying to calm one so I can go and soothe the other. Night after night this happens, and when both girls are finally asleep  I am sweaty and tired and hungry and feeling like I need to drink an entire bottle of wine and eat a pound of Sour Patch Kids.

(This part is long. If you're not a mom, you are going to think this part is annoying because it is stupidly detailed. Feel free to skip ahead two paragraphs.)

Tonight was no different. I took the girls to an indoor play center near our house, but was careful to be home before 6:00 and even picked up dinner on the way home. I tried to keep Maxine up as long as possible to GUARANTEE that she would be sleeping by the time Willa's bed time came. Sure enough, the moment I sat down in the glider with Willa, a book, and a bottle, I hear Max start to cry. Unfortunately, it wasn't just a "I-am-going-to-fuss-for-a-few-minutes-and-then-go-back-to-sleep" kind of cry. It was an ear-piercing, heart-wrenching  "I-need-your-boobs-right-this-second" kind of cry. I let Willa finish her bottle and then placed her in her crib, wide awake. She instantly started to cry. I went to Max, fed her, and put her in her swing, hoping she would hang out quietly while I got Willa calmed down. Willa continued to rage on, feeling abandoned by our cuddle session cut short. She started pounding on the wall, calling for mom, calling for dad. I left Maxine in the swing, and of course she starts to bawl, too. In Willa's room, I sang a couple songs in hopes that she would quickly settle, leaning over the crib to rub her back. I hear Max raging. My heart is breaking, my blood pressure is rising, and I become angry. Angry that Willa needs so much help to fall asleep, angry that I let her need so much help, angry that my husband has to work so late, angry that I feel alone and hopeless and depressed, angry that it seems like everyone else has it easier than me, angry that I haven't even eaten the dinner I brought home.

I tried bringing Maxine into Willa's room with me, but the moment Willa saw that she became enraged. "Why are you holding her but you won't hold me?" I became desperate. At this point I was about to call my husband and tell him all the bad words in the world. Does he not realize how much easier it is to be at work than it is to be at home? Does he not get that I am suffocating from the responsibility of motherhood? My back hurt from all of the bending and crouching and holding and soothing. Both girls were crying, the dog was barking, and the sound decibels coming out of my house probably mimicked those of a college house party. I got desperate. I scooped up Max and brought her into Willa's room, laying her down on a pile of folded laundry in the dark. I picked up Willa, sat down on the floor next to the baby, and began to sing while rocking her. "A is for apple, B is for ball, C is for cat and D is for Dog. E is for eggs that you love to eat, F is for fish that have no feet...." My right arm cradled Willa and my left arm was stretched across to the baby who held my index finger. Slowly but surely, Willa began to drift off and MIRACULOUSLY, Max just laid there without making a peep. Fifteen minutes went by with hardly any sounds. Maxine was just laying there wide awake, but she was quiet. It was out of the ordinary and completely amazing.

Fifteen minutes went by before I realized that this was a perfect moment. One of those perfect moments that gets lost in the chaos so I forget that there is even such thing as a perfect moment in motherhood. There we sat, the three of us, enveloped in darkness and calm and Jesus. I started to pray for my girls. My hands were on each of them as we sat in perfect peace, hours past their bedtime.Willa began to breathe deeply and rhythmically, but I didn't want to put her down just yet. I wanted to photograph this moment in my mind forever.

The room was dark except for the soft blue glow of Willa's night lamp. I sat on the floor up against the crib, breathing in the smell of my life. I don't know if I can describe what my life smells like other than familiar. Homey. Maybe it is a combination of diapers, coffee, and the fresh flowers I try to keep around. I don't think I have ever felt more immensely and purely grateful. In that moment, thankfulness consumed me. I was so sure of the fact that I was created to be these girls' mom. God picked me out of the billions of women in the world to nurture and cherish and love these two precious, beautiful children. Maxine continued to clutch onto my finger and tears began to roll down my cheeks. "My life is exactly what it is supposed to be," I thought to myself. My life is not too hard. My life was not made for someone else. I am perfectly designed to raise these children.

When you're in the trenches of parenthood, it's REALLY hard to look at your current life objectively. You just want to roll your eyes at the middle-aged women who tell you "treasure these moments" when you're covered in baby puke and your toddler just peed on the floor. You're anxious to get out of the "baby stage," ready to move on to the "fun part of parenting," like T-ball games and field trips with free food. But sometimes you get a needed kick in the pants (like I did tonight) and realize that it truly is important to cherish the moments. These moments will soon be gone and we will be old, needing our children to help us with our velcro shoes.

I wanted to write this post to make sure I remember to remember the moments that make everything worth it. I want to remember the moments when God graciously gives me a birds-eye view of my life and the perfect love that is surrounding me. I want to remember forever the moments that I feel so saturated in love--with my babies' warm bodies close to me, my heart feeling like it is going to burst of fullness and purpose--nothing else matters. These are the moments that give depth and meaning to the stress of my life. The silent moments that drown out the cacaphony of hormones and emotion. The moments that make me realize that even when I have reheated my cold coffee for the fourteenth time and my house is a disaster, THIS IS MY CALLING.