I had a wonderful mother’s day weekend filled with nothing-out-of-the-ordinary perfection. That is my kind of weekend.
On Saturday we went to Zion and drove through the park, the tunnels (my girls favorite) and spent some time taking in the views. We had a delicious dinner at Oscars before heading home just in time to tuck the girls in and enjoy a beautiful lightening show from the front porch (and then from the front window when the lightening got too close for comfort) with my two best friends, Brady and Hales. Life is good here, my friends.
On Sunday, after a home cooked breakfast from the mister and the big girls we headed to church where Stella would have her primary singing debut (worth the wait). After church, we all cozied up on the couches in the living room and every last one of us took a 2 hour nap. It was the most glorious mother’s day gift I could have been given.
All weekend long as I read up on social media and various mother’s day plugs I kept reading over and over how hard motherhood is, how it’s the hardest job in the world, how thankful we should each be for our mothers. And to an extent, I do agree. I recently gave birth to a 6 lb baby on my bedroom floor after 2 hours of a tough transition. From that day on, I have slept no more than 3 hours at a time and each and every daily task is interrupted by a hungry baby whom I solely provide nourishment, not to mention the demands of a very busy 5 and 3 1/2 year old that must also be met. I guess that isn’t considered a walk in the park – and from where you’re standing it might very well look like an extremely difficult job. But here’s the thing, it sure doesn’t feel that way from where I’m standing.
I wake up 2-4 times a night to a tiny human who, out of all the people in the entire universe, wants only me. Her warm body held close to mine and the sweetest sounds of her suckling lull us both back to sleep. Most mornings I wake up sandwiched between two of my very own children. These are my favorite smiles of the entire day. Their big brown eyes beam as I snuggle into their creamy skin. Their dad, who happens to be my best friend and the love of my life, rushes them off to the breakfast table while I finish feeding the littlest one. The next half hour is spent juggling shower time and picking outfits for everyone in the house and handing off the baby as we help wash faces, brush teeth and braid hair. We have hearty conversation on our 7 minute drive to preschool. I walk the 4 steps from our car to the door at school with her hand in mine. She gives me a kiss as I send her on her way and before she rounds the corner, she blows me another. More days than not, I have to feed my baby in that very parking lot while my 3 year old applies lipstick onto the both of us and tells me what she wants for her birthday, no matter how many months away it is.
When we arrive home, I strap that baby to my body and can fulfill one of the hundreds of tasks I would like to finish that day. Some days it’s the kitchen or laundry, some days work, some days make-up. I feed that little piglet again before heading back to preschool where the biggest girl is waiting for me and always waves to me out the window like she hasn’t seen me in months. She gets in the car and lovingly greets her sisters in the back of my van, usually with a kiss and hug for each of us. We then pick up Daddy from work where we all cheer and celebrate his arrival before we grab a quick lunch, usually something that I can eat while nursing the baby in the backseat because she’s hungry again.
The afternoons are spent in the backyard mostly. Some days we are princesses and the trampoline is our castle, some days we all have babies that we take to our picnic, some days we are Elsa and Anna but we all have freezing powers, some days we’re doctors and patients. Most days I try to steal a quiet minute in the house while sipping my diet coke (nursing the baby, again) while the big girls run in and out of the house with different things to tell me about what they’re observing in the world outside. I can hear the daddy’s truck round the corner to our street and relief from the days noise and busyness ensues me. He kisses each of our girls before wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me close for a smooch. We spend the next two hours eating dinner and talking about our days, tubbing those babies of ours and tucking them into bed. On my favorite nights I snuggle close to my husband and nurse our baby for the last time of the night. Ten minutes after I lay her down, I already miss her – I already miss all of them – and can’t wait to wake up to them all again in the morning.
It’s these days that thread together a beautiful life, a life I dreamed of, a life I chose. So, on mothers day, I don’t tend to celebrate the super woman in me who does this hard and difficult job. I choose to celebrate this beautiful life we have here snuggled close to the ones who make it all possible.