Who. has. the. time. Its something I think a lot these days. Its been my approach to writing like this these days. And by these days I’m generally talking about the last two years, with a particular emphasis on the past seven months. I’ve completely let writing fall by the wayside, and with it the commitment to devote any real mental space to regular reflection.
I look back on even my previous, one-child-to-wrangle self these days and think ohhhhhh giiiiiiiirrrll you had no idea. I think, She would paint her nails. HA! She would wear her long hair down nearly every day. HA! What a dear sweet baby love I was, young and free, thinking I had such little time for myself anymore. Guys, that was not even SEVEN months ago.
Its amazing how quickly and drastically things can–and do–change. I don’t wish those days of old on myself, perhaps because children make mental people out of us parents due to how much looove we can’t help but have in our souls for them. [Its a parental cliche, but I can hardly imagine life before the babies became a part of it. On paper, choosing parenthood over DINK-hood (laugh cry emoji) on the other side of the jump, doesn’t quite add up. But in life, it more than adds up. Those squishy, toothless-grinned bobble headed babes and their curious, crazy, high-pitch voiced, not much older siblings win our hearts from day one and we’re stuck for good.] Despite the sleepless nights and early mornings, the messy kitchens, the scarcity of time alone, we’re happy to be on this side. At least, I am. Truly, I am.
But I still can’t help but feel the teeniest tiniest tinge of prideful contempt at my old self sometimes. It is so so easy to feel like a martyr. To crave recognition for what I’ve so sacrificially given up for motherhood. Which, by the way, I entered into so conveniently unaware of what it really requires of you. Can I get an amen?
So no one has. the. time. k? In her own way, that old self of mine was being stretched just as I am today, albeit in in slightly different ways. I don’t want to use my current circumstance to excuse myself from the Lord’s good slow work of sanctification, and I think reflection is one small piece of letting Him do His work in me.
I make no promises. But here I am today, from the other side.
And you’re welcome, for lodging Adele right into the front of your brain there.