It gets harder

I thought when my babies were little and I was so tired that parenting was the hardest it could possibly ever be. I remember doing days of endless laundry, breastfeeding, nap times, and nighttime wakings. My mood was determined by whether or not both of my girls napped. And then the debate. Do we let the baby cry or go get her? She needs to learn to sleep, but I don't want to ruin her and give her trust issues if I don't go. I felt guilty about co-sleeping, felt lost at how to navigate my own depression. 

But I also remember sweet times. We played make believe and tea parties and dolls. I read princess books and Fancy Nancy, Pinkalicious, and children's story bibles. The days were so long, trying to keep them entertained. I took lots of walks. Walks to feed the ducks, walks to look at early Christmas lights, Halloween decorations, flowers. Anything and everything was an adventure. I remember constant clinging and trying to calm a fussy toddler and a crying baby while making dinner. Feeling like the house would never be clean enough. But reveling in the time I spent sitting on the floor, surrounded by toys, pretending to be a cat while the girls screamed with laughter. Sandbox sand trailing through the house. Wet night time diapers. Milk sitting in a sippy cup for days under a bed until the smell revealed it. Rocking sleeping toddlers. Praying over them each night that they would know and love the Lord. 

I thought those days were hard. And they were. God gave me grace where I was and here we are, ten years later: parents to three amazing children. Three souls that we get to raise and encourage. Three precious people. But it is so much harder now. It is hard because now we have to parent their relationships, their rebellion, their hurt feelings. We have school projects, sports practices, and playdates. We have birthday parties and end of school parties. And there is so much to worry about - do they have friends? Are they happy? Am I messing up? 

Underneath all the busyness and all the stress is the desire to just keep them little. I don't want them to see the world through my eyes yet. I want them to keep the wonder of exploring outdoors. I want them to feel safe and loved when I hug them. I don't want mean girls, bad grades, unfair coaches, or the fallenness of this world to confront them every day. I just want to sit on the floor and play with them. We aren't even to teenage years yet and it is hard. But if they don't confront the fallenness, they can't find Jesus. If they never have hard friendships or bad grades, they won't learn how to grow from them. They won't ever turn to the Lord if everything is perfect all the time. I find myself still praying over them each night, but my prayers have changed; they used to be hopeful, now they are earnest and trusting. They are trusting because I cannot help them all the time anymore. I have to believe that God will hold them, carry them, and guide them. I have to believe that all things will work together for their good, even when I can't see the outcome. 

I was nine months pregnant and due any day with my second child. MJ was 21 months old and I was up in the middle of the night rocking her. It was still and quiet and she fell asleep as we rocked. I thanked God for that time I got to spend with her - one last time before her sister was born,  one last intimate nighttime to just be her mom. To comfort her and give her peace. Tonight that same child, 11 years old, couldn't fall asleep. I crawled in bed with her and wrapped my arms around her. She calmed and slept. And I am so grateful.