Monthly Archives: July 2011

frustrated by my frustration.

I was told after my last post that I seemed a little down, and that, in the future, I should only write happy, upbeat things.

It’s just really freaking hard to be happy and upbeat on, like, 2 hours of sleep in 48 hours. I don’t know what it is, but I hit a wall of sleeplessness and something snaps in my brain and the whole world better watch out, because mama ain’t happy. I really become totally irrational and inconsolable, like a junkie needed her fix or something. It’s bad.

It’s like there is a constant war in my heart. On the one hand, I know, deep down, that someday I am going to actually be sad when no one cries for me in the night. I will miss the endless messes and the sticky fingers. As I rock Henry to sleep, singing him beautiful hymns and just relishing his weight, his peaceful heaviness, in my arms, I want to memorize him, breathe him in, never, ever forget his eyelashes, or his dimples, or his contented sighs and his sleep songs. But then after trying to put him down and sneak out of the room only to have him wake up 3 times in a row I start to get a little impatient and frustrated and mad and tired and crabby and I just want to go to sleep. And then I am frustrated by my own frustration.

I think, on some level, these frustrations stem from unrealistic expectations — I expect to have an easy time getting my kids to sleep, and then when that doesn’t happen for whatever reason, I get mad. I expect my 2.5 year old to never whine and never throw tantrums over really random things, and then when he does whine and he does throw tantrums, I get mad. Where is it written that children shall be easy to put to bed, should sleep all night, should never act like children? Where is it written that I deserve better?

Why can’t I just enjoy it for what it is? I am going to miss it someday, even though sometimes it isn’t fun now. It’s hard to believe sometimes when I am so effing tired but I really will miss it.  It is a constant battle trying to enjoy and savor moments that in the moment are not savory or enjoyable.  I don’t know what the secret is. I haven’t figure that out yet.

For now, I am going to:

  • pray for eyes to see the moments as I should see them.
  • breathe.
  • know that everyone will sleep eventually.
  • breathe.
  • answer one of Sam’s endless questions one more time.
  • breathe.
  • nurse the baby again.
  • breathe.
  • eat lots of dark green leafies, drink enough water, and take my B vitamins and inositol.
  • breathe.
  • give one more hug and one more kiss before bedtime. “Can I hold you?”
  • breathe.
  • kiss Henry’s sweet fuzzy head as I bounce him to sleep again.
  • breathe.
  • breathe.
  • breathe.
Advertisements

once upon a time.

Once upon a time I had a capable brain and I used it on a daily basis. Once upon a time I wasn’t fat. Once upon a time I had cute clothes, and reason to wear them.  Once upon a time I had some sort of ability to leave the house by myself every once in a while.

It is a hard adjustment, being a SAHM. I am 2.5 years into it and it’s still just really hard most days.

If I tried to think rightly about this, to frame this through the right theological lens, I would think about how God is shaping me in His image, and stripping all these other things i used to find identity, and life, in, away.

And maybe on some level I know that those things I listed above are stupid. Those things don’t matter in the realm of eternity. Maybe deep down I know that there is abundant life underneath it all.

But today? Today I am just saying that it feels like I am dying. Like I am losing some part of me I used to know and understand and there is this ‘other’ me lurking, slowly being revealed. My rottenness, my crucified self, was always there. Just here in my house, with my family, the things I used to hide behind — a good night’s sleep, physical attractiveness (or feeling pretty), my intellectual prowess, etc. — are being removed by what I can only hope is God’s refining power in my life.

But today? Today, all of this feels like i am dying, and every cell of my body is rebelling against this dying to self.