Mommyhood 101

Naptime, glorious naptime. Those precious few hours of the day where you choose to Tasmanian devil it around the house trying to get things done, or do something indulgent like shower, have lunch or even blog. While I'm not thankful my little man wanted to party two hours earlier than normal last night, I am thankful for good naps today. That my friends, is the stuff dreams are made of. Or at least the dreams of a new Mommy.

It's in these quiet moments that I find my heart trying to catch its breath, and my mind trying to be still just long enough to figure out what the heck is going on and what might be next. As I plod along down this golden albeit sometimes rocky road called motherhood, I'm realizing more and more just how much I stink these days at dividing my time and attention. I used to be proud of how I could multi-task, but I am convinced that skill went out the window along with a non-muffin topped waistline. Because you've see, I've learned that when these tiny people of ours arrive they fill up just about every inch of your heart and mind and then some. In my 4.5 months of knowing Brooks Michael Bentley he has filled up more of me than I even knew existed.

I maybe should have caught on that my sweetly packaged life and sense of self was in for some undoing when we reached hour 40 of labor, still with no sign of a baby. I should have maybe known that crunches would take a back seat to breast feeding when my voracious little eater latched on at minute 5 of his life. And I maybe should have caught on that how I know and understand God was forever changed the second I heard his gusty cries and almost topped them in gusto and volume with my own.

Babies have a way of doing that I'm learning. Changing, altering, taking over. My plans, my body, my time . . . all belongs to this bald, pudgy, gummy smiled little guy who has taken up residence in my home and my heart. It's hard, really hard for people like me who like to plan and always "have it together". Babies aren't so interested in that. One of the many things I've learned to love about Brooks so far is he is a passionate little fellow with opinions to be shared. (I can't imagine where he inherited that trait). When he plays, there is no stopping the constant motion of his legs. And when he's hungry, me and most of the building are made well aware.

I think the Lord knew I would need a baby like this, one that would throw down the gauntlet per say and invite me to give it up and give it over. Because when I decide to quit worrying about my inbox or calendar and just decide to spend a few hours on the floor blowing raspberries on a bulging tummy, my heart soars to the heavens in worship as we laugh together. When I chose to r-e-l-a-x about that days health, feeding or sleeping concern, I can treasure the sweetness of this miracle nestled contentedly against my skin even if it's not at a planned or even preferred time of day.

I don't want to miss this; this season, these lessons. I want to get over myself and my ideas of how things should be so that I am who my baby, and more importantly, my God needs. There is worship in surrender, and yes, it's painful. But Lord oh Lord, if my 42 hours of labor are any indication of how the pains of mommyhood are repaid . . . sweet Jesus is it worth it.

Brooks Michael, Jesus?

I'm in.

(gulp)