On Sunday night, as the weekend washes off of me and the kids fall asleep, I roll over in bed and lay my hand on Michael's chest and my heart aches... for my babies. I miss them. I want each of them snuggled up against us through the late night hours; kicking, moving, pinching, and breathing their heavy baby breaths. I want my babies with me. These babies, that I've diverted or fought off at times weekend, I need and want them in my arms. My body physically aches for them.
This is the dichotomy of being a mother
We want our babies to need us, but the neediness is also deflating.
The weekend is what we work for, but it isn't always smiles and sunshine. Often, I tell the kids that, "Mommy can't be touched right now," because those adorable little hands I created can feel overwhelming. The title "mamma" that I prayed to hear and work daily to deserve, can be daunting when sung in rounds by each child at any and every given moment.
I cry because I feel bad that I cry over being a mother, the guilt that it isn't always the easiest of jobs and that I'm probably messing it up runs deep.
It's only a few years.
It's only a few years that I am blessed to be exhausted on the weekend.
It's only a few years that I am fortunate enough to have healthy babies keeping me on my toes.
It's only a few years that Michael and I get to smile over the chaos and be thankful that we have actually received exactly what we spent years working for.
Those three little ones who are peacefully sleeping across the hall, those hearts that beat pure, and those warm souls I want so badly to cuddle, will thankfully still be there in the morning. So, I relax into my bed and try to forgive myself.
...But, you better believe that if those little voices and tiny hands come reaching for me and calling mamma in the middle of the night, that I will happily welcome the cuddles.
No comments:
Post a Comment