Riding the Waves

Sullivan was having a hard time tonight which therefore meant I was as well. I know the phrase "if momma ain't happy, nobody is happy" is popular but in reality it should be "If baby ain't happy everyone else is envisioning packing up 12 pair of underwear, 4 pair of sweatpants, the spice girls greatest hits, and heading for the hills". Please picture the large white minivan peeling out leaving burnt rubber and goldfish crackers in it's wake. 

I know these moments are fleeting. 

This struggle - as intense as it feels in the moment- is really just that. Only a moment: only a drop in an ocean. We ride the waves together, sometimes crashing to the surface, other times rocking gentle against the shore.

 Like the waves persistent crashes I find myself rocking and often listening to the rythmic creak of the chair.  I know one day I will no longer have the rythm of this chair to guide me. One day it will instead be the patter of my feet running to check on a child who needs a hug, or story, or gentle reminder that everything will be ok. This will eventually give way to a new pattern of the sound of my feet pacing as I wait for a teenager to come home, worried for my child who isnt quite a child anymore: waiting for my heart to stop aching at this change. This pattern will give way to another- of silence. Knowing that my children now create their own oceans and waves as I sit on the shore praying I taught them enough to trust their inner compass.

Right now my chair rocks, my baby sleeps, and a bit of perspective slips into the chaos and stress of my day.

This too shall pass. It will make way for other struggles and other moments-big ones, small ones, moments lost, and moments found.

Tonight I held Sullivan, his little face wet with tears. He was so tired.  I was equally as tired and dreaming of Vegas, baby sitters, pants that zipped, and meals I didn't have to eat in under 2 seconds.

I put him on my chest and rocked.
 And rocked. 
And rocked.
And I listened to his breathing that was rapid and distressed slowly align with my own. Slowly the hiccups stopped. Slowly the tears abaited.
Until we were breathing together, chest to chest and cheek to cheek. Our salty tears intermingled. 
And we rocked.
And rocked.
And rocked.

I put my phone down, turned the TV off, and just breathed him in. I memorized his sweet chubby cheeks and perfect little eyelashes. I prayed for grace to remember this moment when it got hard again later.

Aka in 2 hours when he wakes up, or one of his sisters has an accident, or sees something suspicious in their bedrooms such as, but not limited to: a blanket folded strangely. You guys, that's not actually a blanket. It's Godzilla. Stay safe.


As hard as these times can be, they're also so fleeting and precious. I will not always be the center of my children's world. I pray I will at least be their anchor.

I know they themselves will forever by my anchor and compass. They are my lighthouse and beacon.

This too shall pass mommas, so as hard as it is, just breathe it in. Breathe in their sweet smells, their hiccups, and even their cries. You won't always be breathing chest to chest. Your hearts won't always be perfectly aligned to each other in the physical, but if we do this right we may get to occupy a little pocket of theirs forever.

Love and light from another momma in the trenches♡