The Blessed Mundane

Y'all.

My brain is fried. It's done. I've got nothing left but maternal instinct to rely on.

I don't know if it was traveling so many miles in so few days, a terrible growth spurt, or a sudden change in my diet that sparked it all... but my child's goal in life has been to make me cry lately. I've thrown my hands in the air in despair, I've buried my face in my hands, and I've even cried as loud as she has in the late hours of the evening. I don't know what's going on in this baby's head, but I'm scheduling a massage as SOON as we survive it. Things got so bad around here yesterday, I turned on an episode of "Teen Mom," just because I needed to feel like I was doing a better job than somebody else at motherhood. These are dark days. She has cried more in the past 72 hours than she has in the last two months combined. I've got a bald spot where my bangs used to be, I'm sure of it.

Yet somehow, in the midst of the chaos, in the midst of hysterics, and in the midst of my feelings of failure... the Lord brings comfort. Whether that be through my husband taking the baby away for a minute so that I can pull myself together, whether it be my mother reminding me that I'm a good mom, or whether that be a lyric in a song that reminds me that this is just a part of the story. Redemption is coming, but so are harder days. Maybe a screaming baby will be a piece of cake compared to trying to comfort an adolescent facing her first heartbreak. It's hard that Ella can't tell me what's wrong right no, but I fear it will be harder when she can tell me... but I still won't be able to make it better. Oh, Lord, give me grace. And let those days be far from now.

ANYWAY! Let's not dwell on those thoughts. I really don't even know why I felt obligated to write about the wretched turmoil of the past few days... but then again, writing helps me escape. Some people run their stresses away (I've never been one of those people. Those people and their Greek God legs can just shut up), some people bake (I have a terrible habit of overcooking and making things dry out), some people drive (Those people are not budget savvy like I am), and some people listen to music (Sometimes this works for me... not today.) I write. I lay it all out in my journal... or sometimes I hop on the Internet and blog about it, because I know that somebody else will relate. I never want my blog to imply that our lives are peaches and cream, because that would be a lie. Some days, we're lucky if I shower... let's not even discuss the look on my husband's face when he caught a glimpse of my leg hair a few days ago. 5 days out of 7, I'm irritated if I have to get out of my pajamas. 6 days out of 7, there's no make up on this face. Some days I look in the mirror and think "Who are you?" Those are usually the days that my shirt clings to my stomach just enough to remind me that I still have a little bit of a baby belly. Those are the days that Ella spits up all over me, so my hair ends up in a ponytail that looks like a first grader did my hair. Those are the days that I notice my teeth aren't as white as they are in the pictures from high school when I used white strips and weighed 90 pounds. Those are the days that the circles under my eyes look a little blacker than they did the day before... and those are the days that I hate that I'm not a fitness guru. Those are the days that I wish I was more committed to a diet regimen. Those are the days that I'm disgusted by the way I look, and it manifests itself in my attitude.

The time phase following birth is simultaneously the most sacrificial and selfish thing I've ever experienced. The days that I need to hear that my husband still thinks I'm sexy are the days that he's missed Ella madly. And while it normally melts me to see him walk by me and go love on our baby... some days, I want to throw a shoe at his head and scream "JESUS SAYS YOU HAVE TO LOVE ME MORE THAN YOU LOVE HER!" The funny side of that selfishness is that when he does come to me ten minutes later and playfully taps my behind, I'm annoyed with the gesture. "Why do you have to be such a guy? Why can't you just be romantic this one time!," I say in a tone dripping with disdain. So he embraces me, and tries to kiss me, to which I roll my eyes and push him away saying "You're just doing it because I said something." So he waits awhile. Then he tries again while I'm cooking dinner. And While I used to love the sweet interruptions, today, there's a ticking time bomb laying in the swing in the living room... and if dinner isn't cooked by the time she wakes up, we won't eat dinner until 10 o'clock. So I swat him away again, annoyed by his timing, yet still thankful that he tried. It's an uphill battle for Cody. I need the affirmation that he still wants me, even though I'm covered in spit up and Ella's slobber, but on the days that I feel bad about myself, I don't have any interest in letting Cody see the scar from delivery, or the stretch marks from the pregnancy... because my hormonal brain convinces me that he'll somehow be repulsed by the sight of me after all of this time. What kind of silliness is that? Though I go to bed with good intentions to get up the next morning and put a little make up on after my shower, most days, I get caught up in trying to keep up with the messes in the house, feeding my infant, and keeping her content. By three o'clock, it kind of becomes a "What's the point!" situation regarding make up, and "I guess I'll just shower when Cody comes home" regarding the leg hair blowing in breeze. I would like to clarify that hygiene still stands in this house; I do brush my teeth, and I don't stink. Things haven't got that bad around here yet. But it's very easy to get wrapped up in the mindset that you're about as appealing as an ogre, and someday, when you're not so tired, you'll start working out and wearing make up again. On the sacrificial side of it, I find myself not caring so much about what I look like when my baby grins at me. I live everyday of my life bettering hers, and even though she's exhausting, she's worth every minute of it all. I know her days of cradling in my arms are limited, and I'm not about to waste them feeling sorry for myself. Basically, I'm a hot mess of contradictions, and things get substantially better when I shave my legs.

Kaylea, if things are so bad around your house right now, how do you have the time to blog?

Well, that's a good question, judgmental stranger. At the moment, Ella is having a moment to herself in the swing. I wouldn't say she's happy about it, but she's not screaming either. She's under strict instructions to lay her burdens at the feet of Jesus, because Mommy is going to lose her mind soon if we can't learn how to co-exist under this roof. I've considered chugging a glass (or bottle) of wine, but unfortunately, I'm breastfeeding, and that's just not an option for me right now... So I had to lay a few things out there for the pregnant moms, the new moms, and the veteran moms to laugh and relate to. The veteran moms are slapping their knees and saying "Just wait until Ella starts teething!" The new moms are sighing with relief that somebody else is fighting the same fight. The pregnant moms are either scoffing and thinking "My baby is never going to annoy me so badly that I let it cry in the swing. It's just a baby, it can't help it!" (To which I smirk, because they'll see in their own time) OR they rubbing their bellies and being okay with the fact that they still have a few weeks before reality hits. The single friends in my life are raising their glasses of wine up to the monitor and saying "this one's for you, Kaylea!" and the married friends are saying "Yeah, kids can wait."

Kaylea, if something is really so wrong with Ella, why haven't you called the doctor?

Well, judgmental stranger. The answer is simple. I don't know what to tell a doctor. She doesn't have fever, has no obvious symptoms of illness, and is using the bathroom frequently. I spoke to my doctor's nurse today, and she's told me what to watch for. I sincerely believe my child exhausted herself this weekend and we're paying for it now that she's home. Basically, I'm not leaving town again until she's eighteen and I'm not affected by whether or not she sleeps.

Kaylea, You're a really good Mom. I feel like you need to hear that.

Thanks. I'm giving it everything I've got.

I just wanted to clear up a few of those questions that I knew people were thinking. My daughter is 9 weeks old, and I've heard more opinions than I ever thought I would. I've heard all about why breastfeeding exclusively is the wrong choice, why we shouldn't have taken our daughter on a road trip, why I shouldn't vaccinate her, why I shouldn't consume caffeine, and why it's important that I enroll her in some sort of daycare to prevent her from becoming a hermit. To all of those opinions, I smile. And I file them in my "Whatever" folder, and I drink my coffee. I think the most important information I can convey to ANY mom is that you are the best thing for your child. Motherhood is a heavy load, and sometimes I really hate the responsibility that comes with it. Everyday of Ella's life involves a Mama that cries out to the Lord for wisdom because she's so terrified of messing up, and a Jesus that probably smiles because he has every minute of Ella's life figured out. I'm merely here to provide calories and shelter. And cuddles. And kisses. But those are just bonuses to this gig. It's so, so hard. And sometimes I wonder what in the world I was thinking when I told Cody we were ready for this. Sometimes I miss crawling into bed with my husband and going to sleep in his arms. Some days, I just want to go to Target and spend every dime of our money on clothes that make me feel attractive. But those are the little things that I won't remember when she's grown. I'll remember talking to her at 5:30 in the morning when she's so ready to wake up and play with me. I'll remember watching her grin at Cody when he comes home because they're so excited to see each other. I'll remember the look on her face the first time I sneezed without trying to stifle it. And I'll smile. The petty things are the things that I can deal with, because raising Ella is so much better than life before her. I'm in love with my husband, and my husband is absolutely crazy about me. Our lives revolve around a baby that has captivated our hearts, and absolutely mad about her. We're a family that relies heavily on Jesus, and we need grace every day of our lives... but what a sweet life it is.