Open hands, essay 2

The other day Nick and I were talking about a friend with new babies who had family come in to help and I was immediately transferred back to a hilarious, scary day of my life. Elias had been home the hospital for almost a week. My mom had rushed in from 200 miles away to be with me each step of those crazy few days. She stood beside me as I triple checked his car seat. She helped me plan our first trip to the doctor, which we carefully navigated making a stop halfway to make sure the baby boy was safe. It was her that walked into our Starbucks with me to show him off to our favorite baristas and her that pushed Nick and I out the door for a thirty minute coffee date so we could talk a little – even though we just itched to get right back in the door. She even slept in our bed with me and did midnight duty so that Nick could get rest since he had just started a new job.

The day she left was the scary day. I started crying around an hour before she started packing and it only picked up when the door closed behind her. I’ll never forget pacing our little 1,000 square foot townhouse, Elias in my arms, looking down at him and bawling – saying, “I’m so sorry!” over and over again. Inept, Unprepared, Alone, and Overwhelmed. Those were my banners. I wasn’t even slightly disappointed in the son we had prayed and waited for – but I was overwhelmingly frustrated with myself. In that first week alone, I changed out of my pajamas once – maybe twice. I cancelled a doctor’s appointment for Elias that was at one p.m. because I couldn’t manage to get us both dressed and out the door in time to leave. All of a sudden, I was busy with nothing to do and exhausted without barely moving.

Seriously – so much of that yuck can be blamed on hormones but I know now most of it had to do with unintentionality. Yearning to be a mama meant nothing without knowing why you pined for the position in the first place. Holding a baby was confusing when you didn’t understand what the next step was.

Fast forward a bit over a year and the scene was familiar and different all at once. I was sitting in the hospital bed, c-section incision even more fresh – one baby learning how to nurse and one baby trying to find his sweet spot in the other arm. Elias was puzzled by me being in bed and he was really confused by the lifeless blob laying in my arms. He wriggled and squirmed and she cried and fussed and we all sat there, in that noisy bed – drinking in our new life. I should have started crying then. Had I been in my right mind, I would have been pacing then… Two kids under two. One barely walking and not talking and the other with horrible colic and a mommy complex. Two in diapers, different stages. Different nap times, different lunch times, no real bed time. Intentionality was the balm for my soul. Panic was no longer part of the equation because Jesus had slowed my heart down long enough to think and pray and decide why these lives were important enough to give mine for, why they deserved my utmost patience and purpose.

I spent my pregnancy with Glory doing a million things. I tried to work outside the home and then decided that would not work for me. I got to know Elias and got to know the kind of mom he demanded. I got to know Jesus’ word and researched and prayed and poured over any verse that could be related to parenting or motherhood or raising a child. I learned how to spank, how to make up songs on the spot, how to say no again and again and again to friends asking to go to coffee. I listened to my husband and he listened to the Lord and we moved across the country for a lot of different reasons. I spent the last month holding Elias and singing to him and delighting in him alone. I found peace and excitement in giving him the greatest gift I could ever present him with – a sis to soften and challenge him and to look up to him like the prince that he is.

So when my mom left this time – I should have been a thousand times more stressed. This time, she was going 2,000 miles back home and we couldn’t say when we’d see one another again. No one was coming to replace her, no one to accompany me to the doctor’s appointments or to meticulously pack the diaper bag with. Interestingly enough, my heart was devoid of fear and filled with relief. I needed her to leave to prove to myself I could do it – Elias crying and needing attention, Glory whining and needing my whole life. For weeks I poured over processes and plans and figured out exactly how to feed two at once, how to carry them down the stairs at once (even if you busted your stitches open), and how to rock one while you kicked a soccer ball for the other with your spare foot. It’s just a different world though. With each bottle sanitized and every shirt washed there is intentionality. The mundane of today is preparing the eternal for tomorrow – minute by minute and child by child. My haphazardly open hands had suddenly been filled, my quiver absentmindedly made full and my new banner became reflection – stop and think, stop and pray, stop and plan. It was like looking at a mall directory that was actually your life, recognizing where you are and moment by moment, redirecting yourself to where you need to go.