Today has really been one of those days where I can see His hand at work in the mundane and ordinary details of housewifery and motherhood. My little man is growing up so quickly – and so very slowly – all at once. Every night waking, every diaper change, and every bowl of cereal mixed and spooned into his needy, open mouth causes me to wonder … “when will this ever end?” … while simultaneously causing my heart to seize up with the fear that it will end, and sooner than I can possibly imagine.
Nobody told me that motherhood was going to be such a careful tightrope between fierce love and paralyzing fear of loss, intermingled with moments of sheer tedium which my working-girl-self could only have imagined on the longest days of board meeting prep and Excel spreadsheet creation. (And even then, it would have been a stretch. A mighty stretch.)
Nature abhors a vacuum, and in the absence of adult company and conversation, Hulu comes all too readily to the rescue to fill the void with … further vapidity. Can I get an ‘amen,’ fellow WAH/SAHM’s?
Now I realize this all sounds like complaining… but it’s not. I swear it’s not! It’s just that, darn it, I didn’t plan on being so bored with my day to day existence when I was dreaming about white picket fences and sweet, cooing, dewy-eyed newborns who smelled of linen and baby Gap couture.
Or so terrified that it might be taken from me, either in the inevitable future or in a terrifying, tragic instant.
There is such a mighty daily tug-of-war for my heart, for my attention. Such rapid vacillation between contented fulfillment and wild, grasping tedium. So many little victories of scrubbing floors, dishes and diapers for the Kingdom… followed by slumping afternoons of wasted web-crawling and idle online ‘shopping*’
(*no credit cards were harmed in the posting of this blog… nor by my occasional, pathetic, virtual window-shopping binges).
I’m so hot or cold.
I’m still that way as a mom, it turns out. As a ‘grown up’ who has, shall we say, arrived at her vocational destination. It’s all or nothing for me, still. I’m either serving God joyfully with the sweat of my brow and the foaming dish soap of my kitchen sink… or I’m flopped on the couch reading People.com’s Style Watch and watching the clock tick down to my husband’s return home, 20 minutes prior to which I will begin frantically scanning Foodily.com for, ahem, poultry inspiration.
And yet I have the audacity to write about the glory of family life? The splendor of motherhood? The evils of contraception and the closed-mindedness of our anti-life, anti-family culture.
I’m still a crappy sinner, after all. And just because I ‘get it’ intellectually and, more rarely, spiritually, doesn’t mean I live it well. Or at all, some days.
And I don’t mean crappy sinner in a snow-covered-dung-hill-Martin-Luther kinda way, just in a realization of my own brokenness and need for ongoing conversion and formation kinda way.
No worries. Not so much to me either. But sometimes I’ve just got to ‘talk it out’ on paper. And when it comes to blogging, maybe somebody else sees it and gets some sliver of insight from it.
Or maybe not. But it did keep me off Hulu all morning. So there’s a start.
St. Therese… pray for me. Seriously girl, I need it.