I started the blog again, however many months ago, for some reason. Yes, I wanted to document the kids growing up. Yes, I wanted to share pictures and stories. But there has been this driving force that keeps telling me to write. A whisper, if you will.
I have ignored it for a long time. Until this whisper has turned into a “hey lady! Write! Tell your story.”
What story? I don’t have a story.
I don’t like being vulnerable. Especially on the Internet where people can be sometimes mean. Not that I’ve personally experienced this, but I’ve seen it. It’s not nice and I get this really icky feeling and think, “oh LORD. I don’t ever want to be on the receiving end of someone’s throw up”. And then I applaud the person getting the (usually) unnecessary backlash, for still writing their heart out for the world to read. Despite the mean commentary.
Weeks and months pass of this urging to share. I thought it was maybe my own inner desire because, let’s be honest here, I can be an over sharer. But life lately has been HARD. I am tired. Like really tired. I feel like I have been pulled 20 different directions and I’m losing a sense of who I am and what personal space and hygiene is. All while trying to be the best mom and wife I can be. All while trying to survive the first year of being a mom to multiples. This is didn’t want to share. I had no desire to show my ugly nor a desire to write actually.
But here I am.
Most of the time I feel like I’m drowning. There are days that are better than others and I feel like I am floating with my head bobbing above the water, gasping for air. The kids basically live off frozen food, heated by the microwave or toaster. And we do lot’s of spaghetti. And takeout. There is a ton of guilt on my shoulders.
When I feel like I’m at my absolute end of my rope, I drive 40 minutes to my parents where I can take a nap and have extra ears and hands to help. Lately, this seems to be happening more often. I had felt myself drifting into a depression. I didn’t know what to call it. It wasn’t so much a postpartum depression. It was more of a “I’m overwhelmed and what the hell did I get myself into” type of depression. “I need a effing break” and honestly some days it’s “I don’t want to do this today” depression.
I found myself often telling my husband “I didn’t ask for two” and asking anyone who would listen “when is it going to get easier?” I still don’t have the answer. But I do know that only reason I am pulling though and waking up every morning – you know, after getting up 3-6 times a night, is because I have the Lord to lean on. And when I feel weary and worn, He fills me with the strength to get through my day. It is a day by day thing.
Sometimes all I need is grace. When I feel like the worst mom in the world because I snapped at one of the girls, or even both at the same time. GASP. It happens more than I would like to admit, but I am always quick to feel convicted and kneel down to the girls level and apologize and I pray. I cannot tell you how looking into my children’s eyes is the quickest way to remind myself of His GRACE. How quickly they are to forgive. I’ve learned so much through them and find myself thirsting for Him. Being a mother to four under the age of five has brought me to my knees so much more than I could ever imagine. Every morning I have to wake asking for strength from Him. Thanking Him. I take that back. I don’t have to. I find JOY in it though. Knowing that He always provides me what I need. He never falls short – unlike myself or anyone else around me. It’s amazing to watch Him work in my life. Watching Him grow me and stretch me to the point where I think I’m going to break. Opening my eyes to how broken I am and how much I need Him. And then He showers me with so much grace and love. It brings me to tears. Happy tears.
Honestly, I don’t know where this post is going or where it has put me. But I do know I needed to write it. My fingers flying over the keyboard while the house is asleep.