You're probably reading this in the wee hours of the night with your baby attached to you in one form or another. The fact that you're reading this at all likely means you're experiencing a rare but blessed few moments of silence amidst the piles of clothes covered in spit-up. But even more than your need for silence is your need for rest. Yes, you desperately need the good old-fashion sleep, but you also need rest from the endless dialogue of questions going through your head.
"Why won't he stop crying? Will she ever sleep more than 45 minutes at a time? Will she ever learn to sleep somewhere, anywhere, other than my arms? Does he really need to eat every two hours? Has she gone too long without eating?? What does that cry mean? Does he have gas? Should I let him cry it out? Will I ever get to take a shower? When do I get to eat? Can I really do this? Am I cut out to be a mom? What happens if I'm not enough? What happens if this is an epic fail? Can I have my life back? My husband back? My body back? What have I done?"
And on and on it goes. It only stops when you collapse into bed and pass out...for 20 minutes before the baby needs you again. Then, despite your battle-like fatigue, the reel starts again, but each time the desperation dial is turned up a little bit more. Everyone tells you how precious he is, how adorable his smile is, and how alert and engaging he is. But they don't know how demanding he is, how powerful his lungs are from all the practice he's had screaming, or how miserable it feels to be unable to console him.
Maybe this isn't your internal dialogue, and maybe I'm just projecting my own reality onto you in the desperate hope that I'm not alone in this, but I have to believe there's hope. No, I really HAVE to believe there's hope. If I don't, I won't make it. When the crying has fried my nerves, there's hope as my knight-in-shining-armor husband walks through the door. When my son wants to eat again, even though I finished feeding him 23 minutes ago, there's hope that this nourishment will lead his body to rest in sleep. When I can't put an entire sentence together due to the exhaustion, there's hope when I remember my God doesn't need full sentences (Romans 8:26). When I'm giving everything I've got and it's not enough, there's hope that God can still use it, somehow. When I've lost all confidence that I can really do this, there is hope that in my weakness He will show Himself strong (2 Corinthians 12:9). When I think this will never end, there's hope that soon He will lead me beside green pastures and still waters (Psalm 23:2-3). But for now, I'm in the valley, trekking day and night, desperately hoping I'm headed in the right direction...
...that's when I realize hope just isn't enough. I need faith. Actually, I need Faith. Faith that His promises are good, Faith that He will never leave me, Faith that He is enough to get me through. With Faith, each weary step takes me closer to His destination for me. Each weary step multiplies my faith. Each weary step is an intentional part of my journey to discovering who I am in Him.
It's okay if you wonder if you're going to make it. It's okay if you think you're not cut out for this. It's okay if you've reached your end. In fact, maybe we're on to something here. Maybe this is the most realistic picture of our human inadequacy. Maybe being a mom is the hardest job in the world because we can't possibly be successful on our own.
So, to those few or many new moms out there who relate, all I can say is...have Faith to hope.
Signed,
A Hopefully Tired Mom
Romans 8:26 "At the same time the Spirit also helps us in our weakness, because we don't know how to pray for what we need. But the Spirit intercedes along with our groans that cannot be expressed in words."
2 Corinthians 12:9 "My grace is all you need, because my power is perfected in weakness."
Psalm 23:2-3 "He lets me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside quiet waters. He restores my soul."
