Momming is hard, yo.

My goodness, friends. This mom stuff is hard sometimes. And I'm in the thick of it. Today was one of those that everyone tells you about but for which nothing can prepare you.

My biggest little has all the feels lately, and she swings like a pendulum from cheerful to devilish and from laughing to devastated all within about three minutes. My itty bittiest had a flare-up of eczema today, and she screamed and flailed and cried in the worst way until she broke my heart. I have a mountain of dishes in my sink that I need to load into the dishwasher, except that I first need to empty the clean ones out of the washer and into my cabinets. I really could use a shower (or a hot aromatherapy bath complete with spa music and a massage), and I haven't yet sat down to pay my mid-month bills. Or finished Sierra's birth announcements. Or written all the thank you cards for baby gifts and meals after she was born. Or finished unpacking from moving into this house 2 months ago.

I put my 3 year old to bed three four times tonight, the last of which came after a scolding because I found her surrounded by books with the lights on in her room (this actually happened while I was writing this blog post). Then as I walked the floor with my not-quite 4 month old on my shoulder after she woke for the second time, I fought tears for the second time today. This time I lost the battle. As I gently patted her bottom to the rhythm of my footsteps and told myself to just breathe, I heard it.

It was an almost-audible whisper: It is just a season. I am here.

I Am. Here He is in the midst of the daily things, the life-altering things, the laborious things: The Unchanging amidst the ever-changing. He who counts the stars and calls them by name also watches me in the darkness of my bedroom, pacing beside the bed. And He reminds me that I am His, and He will not abandon me.

Isn't that what every parent wants for their children--to know security and love? It's my job to be that for them, to show Him to them. Through the toughest, most emotionally exhausting times even, I must be His hands: reaching out, comforting, healing. Caressing hairlines. Kissing boo boos. Shushing whimpers and wrapping my arms around tiny bodies. Remembering that what they need in me is who I have in Him.

So if you see me and my ponytail is halfway falling out, or if I say the wrong word or refer to one of my children by the wrong name, or if I invite you over and then apologize profusely for the mess, please do excuse me. I'm in the thick of it. This mom stuff is hard sometimes.

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