Yesterday I woke up teary-eyed over a typo.
Last night I went to bed teary-eyed because my baby was still alive.
This morning I woke up breathless to see aforementioned baby's smiling face.
Tonight I'm readying for bed breathless because I'm so tired and frustrated and downright angry at how out of control all three children can be at once.
It's been a tough coupla days to be Mom.
The baby fell yesterday. Off a chair. Onto concrete. He was silent, his eyes rolled back, and he seized. And I thought he would die right there in my arms. I thought his brain would go to sleep and never awake. I thought the paramedics would take him from me and he'd never return.
But those things didn't happen. My despairing thoughts did not become realities. He was limp, he was trying to sleep, he was unresponsive, but then he came back to life. He didn't want the neck stabilizer on. He didn't want to be touched and felt and have a light pointed in his eyes. He just wanted his dad as he walked through the door, 10 short minutes later. He wanted a nappy change because he was absolutely stinky. He wanted to go home and watch the wiggles and dance and sing.
Because the fall was from a short heighth and he quickly became his old belligerent self (seizing is not uncommon with concussions, they say... as if it's the most normal thing in the world to see your child's body shake involuntarily), we decided not to expose him to hospital craziness and instead brought him home and watched him, watched him, watched him. Like hawks.
So every time we stirred in the night, we took turns checking on him. I awoke this morning ready to see him whole and normal and most definitely protected by God. We cuddled, played, ate, wrestled, sat, sang... the whole bit. Just overwhelmed with the delight that comes from feeling you've been given a second chance.
And then we went to eat and talk God stuff with our church family. And then I was not so grateful... with the water spilling, with the food throwing, with the biting, with the screaming, with the fighting, with the wetting, with the talking back... it wasn't just the baby, it was the whole lot of them. All three rebelling against me, as if they knew today I would be at my absolute weakness.
We went into the meal feeling all sorts of missional family perfection, and I left with my head hanging between my legs because I still, years and countries and lives later, so do not have it all together.
In 48 hours I can feel it all. Frustration, fear, despair, joy, gratitude, elation, anger, sadness, exhaustion. I feel it all, and it all feels too much for this mama who held a lifeless baby less than 36 hours ago.
Oh, Lord, thank you, thank you for protecting him. Please, please, guide me in how to mother them.