Thursday, August 6, 2009
I am reminded that I am 38 weeks pregnant when I try to turn over in bed and can't. Parched, I force myself onto all fours, slither off the bed, and clumsily make my way through the dark into the bathroom to get a drink.
I am reminded that I am 38 weeks pregnant when I bolt out of bed with sudden urgency for the bathroom, then double over in pain as my ligaments protest against said "bolt." All the adrenaline must have scared LuLu who gets a case of the hiccups. Hiccups persist until after 5 a.m. Mommy doesn't sleep.
Alarm goes off. Decision time. Abigail will be awake in a half hour. Do I wake up and have my quiet time and breakfast in peace or snag an extra half hour of sleep that I missed during the night? I turn the alarm off and close my eyes. Apparently I've made my decision.
My dream of praying with the apostle Peter is interrupted by my mommy senses kicking into gear. Someone is watching me. I open my eyes to see Baby Einstein hair floating above a large armload of stuffed animals and blue eyes peering just above the edge of my bed. "Mommy wake!" Abi squeals with glee and throws her animals to the ground. She reaches for my hand dangling over the edge of the bed and lifts it up, her way of helping me to get into a sitting position.
Am I in a good mood? I ask myself. I can be, I guess. I waddle out of the bedroom and stop short as we enter the living room. TOYS EVERYWHERE. I glance at the kitchen. DISHES EVERYWHERE. I didn't clean before I went to bed last night. Suddenly, I am NOT in a good mood. I need a good 15 minutes to regroup. Some mommy alone time. But Abi is hungry. I attempt to think quickly. If I give Abi a waffle she will finish it in 5 minutes. If I give her cereal, she'll pick at it for ages, giving me more time.
"Abi, do you want Kix or Cheerios?" I ask her.
"No cereo. Waffa bwekass!" Hmm. Waffle breakfast.
"No Abi, Kix or Cheerios."
"NO CEREO!" she screws up her face in protest. I don't blame her. I know I'm being unreasonable. She ambles to a pile of books and begins picking through them. Maybe we'll just forego breakfast for a while. Maybe she'll read to herself. I bend over to pick up some toys and am reminded I am 38 weeks pregnant when I can't reach the floor. I'm starting to get sick of being pregnant. I pick up the toy I was reaching for with my toes and transfer it to my hand. Abi brings me a book. "Book? Book?" she asks sweetly.
"No book. Mommy isn't going to read this morning." What kind of meanie am I?
"Mama, book! Book! BOOOOOOOOOK!"
"No Abi." I take the book she's handing me and put it on the shelf. Of course she starts stamping her feet and whining. With my eyes only half-opened I take her hand and lead her to her bedroom. I just can't deal right now. I know I have to put her somewhere safe before Mommy-saurus eats her for breakfast. I put her on her bed and shut the door. I silently thank God that I had trained her to stay in her bed when she's put there. I begin a rampage through the apartment like a giant mama ape, picking everything up off the floor with my feet and flinging them into their respective homes. I start crying, feeling crappy, knowing I'm "exasperating my children" and finding it hard to change my attitude about the day. Just as I am about to go wake up Jon and ask for help, I hear him fumbling down the hallway. He finds me and hugs me. Oh that is sooooooooooooooooo what I need. I cry and cry. The past few days have been building up to this moment. I just need a break, but I can't seem to get one. I'm merely at the end of my rope.
I make my breakfast and sit down. At least the toys are picked up now. I read a bit from Philippians: "he who began a good work in you WILL CARRY IT ON TO COMPLETION UNTIL THE DAY OF CHRIST." I'm just a work in progress, no need to get flustered that I'm not perfect. I go retrieve Abi from her room and she finds another book and brings it to me: Dr. Seuss's "I Am NOT Going to Get up Today!" Jon laughs hysterically. I can't help but crack a grin. This is God being ironic and trying to cheer me up. "I sincerely need you today, God," I pray.
I come to the realization that a half hour of sleep is not more important than sanity and a chance to connect with God in the morning. I need that time of peace in order to fill up on the Prince of Peace and reflect that peace the rest of the day. Sleep is seriously overrated. In order to avoid mommy-saurus in the future, I need determine my attitude and not let it be swayed by circumstance. Even if in the future I don't get my half hour of peace, God's graces are new every morning, specific for each day. I just have to choose to take it.