The privilege of motherhood

Parenting two kiddos is a journey and a challenge and a blessing, all in one, pretty much every single day.

Sometimes I watch them, when they're sleeping or playing nicely together, and my heart bursts with the love I feel for them. My heart aches when they're gone, and the love I have for them eclipses pretty much everything else.

Other days the screaming hasn't stopped since 7:46 a.m. and my head is pounding from the headache their screaming has caused, and the minutes slowly drag until 5:30 when David pulls in the driveway and I practically sprint out the door for an escape because I just can't take another minute of it. Or I collapse on the couch, defeated by the 39th request to do something or to move Cora away from the cords on the ground and I just think to myself, "I can't handle another minute of this" so I hide in the bathroom and scroll on Instagram to remind me that I'm an adult who has more varied interests than making another pb&j or wiping butts all day long.

Can you tell which of the two is my favorite?

I treasure the moments when it's quiet in here, when the two girls are occupied with whatever holds their attention for a minute or two. I'm holding on to the hope that a sweet child will re-emerge from the hormonal raging monster that is currently the 3 year old, and the teething pain will ease for the 8 month old so my still-sweet babe can smile at me for more than a minute at a time.

But really, my life is so much more fruitful and privileged than I can even comprehend.

I complain to myself about having to get up off the couch to tend to a child -- and I think of those who don't have children. I refill a water bottle for the thousandth time -- and I think of those suffering the floods in Texas. I coax a baby back to sleep who really doesn't want to -- and I ache for babes with no beds to call their own. I wipe another butt -- and I thank God for the blessing of modern toilets. I read another book for the millionth time in a row -- and I think of those who can't afford books or toys like we can.

This dichotomy of modern living has been haunting me for awhile. How do I manage to stay thankful and optimistic when all I can think about is those who have less than me? How can I complain about my small difficulties when they are pebbles in comparison to some? I try to lift all my confusion up to Jesus and ask Him to help me pray for those who need it, help me remain grateful, help me let go so I can help others in the small ways I can.

I'm not writing this all as a plea for sympathy - but rather as a reminder to myself that everything is temporary, kid phases will pass, and I really can handle the small trials I'm sent. No matter how many times during the day I say "I can't do this anymore" and wish for just one minute alone to regroup, God didn't send me these two beautiful hooligans on a whim.

Every moment is a chance for me to better myself, to grow into the person and mother I was called to be, and yeah - life isn't all roses & daisies, you moron. (That's me talking to me, if you're curious.) Sometimes life is hard. So it is.

"Rejoice in hope, endure in affliction, persevere in prayer." Romans 12:12.

That's all any of us can do.
HG