when you're a little beat up by motherhood
Some days, motherhood just beats you up. Literally. This week during an evaluation to see if he needs speech therapy, my angelic two year old, who doesn't have any issues with being to aggressive, say not sharing in nursery, threw my phone. At. My. Face. At my face! To be fair, it wasn't a premeditated act and it wasn't even an angry act (at that particular moment). He was just a little too wild. But it hit me square in the nose. Hard. (See also two year old MLB pitcher try outs).
You guys! It hurt so bad. Seriously. I've never been hit in the face like that. Smacked by an opened handed toddler, even cautiously punched by a three year old exploring his boundaries? Absolutely! But this was a hard object, with some serious momentum on it. And it was in front of another person, who I didn't know very well. I excused myself to the kitchen to grab a paper towel in case it started to bleed, but it didn't. But as I stood there over the sink, it all just flooded me. The pain, the embarrassment, the hurt in my heart, the guilt over what I must be doing wrong with these children. It was too much.
Thankfully the evaluation was pretty much over at that point. Can't wait to see that report! The evaluator left and my sweet babysitter showed up because it was a Monday. Wonderhubs was travelling for work, so instead of a date night, it was a time to get out, breathe, study my Bible and maybe write a little. Over an hour later, I still couldn't concentrate. I gave up, got some dinner and went to Target, where some questionable choices were made and chalked up to delirium resulting from the earlier nose injury. After that I decided I was ready to head home and get some sleep. I was exhausted.
But when I walked into my house, the one I'd spent the pre-nose-assault morning cleaning, my darling children had, well, they had NOT picked up after themselves. And since I was home a tad earlier than usual, the babysitter hadn't gotten to it yet. Whatever. I can do the dishes. I needed to throw in another load of laundry because...8 kids. I walked into the laundry room and some one, or rather, no one at all, had dumped out the clean laundry and then dumped the dirty laundry on top of that. It might have hurt worse than the schnoz incident.
I pretty much lost my brain at this point. I could not handle this. No Wonderhubs at home to help, a no longer clean house, dishes that needed to be done, and loads of laundry that needed to be rewashed. My heart just cracked. I woke up my 14 year old, who seeing my distress, was an amazing help to me. Girlfriend deserves a medal for her mad midnight cleaning skillz, yo!
At 2 am, I was finally going to go to sleep. And then the phone throwing, nosedestructor woke up. Crying. This boy has a rough time sleeping, like way beyond not being a good sleeper. I've had 8 kids, people. I know about not sleeping, but this is beyond that. I tried, unsuccessfully, to get him back to sleep. He'd close his eyes while I was there, but the minute I got up to walk to the door, he'd sit up, cry and say, "Um bick." Come back? After a few times I did not have it in me to keep going back. I broke.
Kneeling there next to his bed, trying to convince him to sleep, I put my head on his pillow and turned away from him. I prayed. Nothing fancy.
I can't do this. I'm at the end of me and I need you to take over."
It was in that moment that I realized that what I really wanted was to feel safe and loved. It had been such a hard day. And I missed Wonderhubs. I wanted him to take over. To hug me and tell me that it was OK and that this wasn't all some epic failure on my part and that I should go to bed. But he wasn't there to fill that need. God was. And He did. He reminded me that my need to feel safe and loved, was exactly what my little non-sleeping-phone-throwing-crying boy needed .
And so I turned back to him, whispered, "Mommy's here. You're safe. I love you so much, sweet boy." As his sobs began to subside, I realized I couldn't stay there, kneeling by the bed. So I did what I wasn't supposed to do and picked him up and put him in my bed. And we both slept, knowing we were loved and safe, albeit, a little bit beat up.
***My nose is fine. I might even still be a supermodel someday.***
