i. am. exhausted.
my whole body aches. i sometimes literally feel like i may not be able to take another step, another breath.
it’s been a week and a half since the three littles joined us and we are just so tired. every day i think of things to write about, but once the kids are in bed, i’m just too tired to sit down and get out any coherent thoughts.
we’ve been up too late and up too early. we’ve been up in the middle of the night because someone couldn’t stop coughing so he couldn’t sleep and then once he was up, didn’t want to go back to sleep. he wanted to be held because he needs to know he’s safe and loved. we’ve been up in the middle of the night because someone missed his mommy. i will tell you, there are no words to adequately soothe that ache, no matter how bad the situation actually was.
days have been long and hard. we’ve had a 16 month old bang his head into the floor for reasons we have yet to determine. too tired? too hungry? too chaotic? too much instability now being rocked by stability?
we’ve had a three year old revert to infancy. pretending to cry, wanting to be held and carried, wanting to sit in the highchair, wanting to eat baby food, wanting to have a pacifier, wanting to wear a diaper, wanting to crawl, wanting to sleep in the crib.
we’ve had a five year old go limp and pretend to sleep at any sign of correction and training. limp. on the hard kitchen floor, on the grass in the backyard, in the bathroom, at the store. anywhere.
i can’t tell you how many times i’ve asked josh if he thinks we can really do this.
i can’t tell you how many times i’ve wondered if we should have said no.
i can’t tell you how many times i’ve wondered if we should say no now.
i can’t tell you how many times i’ve said the sweet, sweet name of Jesus.
out loud, throughout the day, asking Him for strength. asking Him for wisdom. asking Him for love that is beyond the love i am able to give. sometimes just saying His name.
the moments i think i can’t go on, He is there telling me i can. He is there because it is all for Him. He’s the only reason why i can do this. He’s the only reason why i could think of even trying this. He’s the only reason why i will do this.
in the backyard, on my knees, pulling a limp child who can’t make eye contact up onto my lap to tell him he’s safe and he doesn’t need to be afraid. only Jesus.
gently holding a three year old “baby” who desperately wants and needs to be loved well. only Jesus.
rushing toward and scooping up and loving on a little one who finds comfort in banging his head into the hard floor. only Jesus.
only Jesus who defeated death. only Jesus who conquered the grave. only Jesus who put His Spirit in me so that through Him, i can do this.