That's my job

If memory serves me correctly the last blog post I published was a little after the birth of my son. Well, I'm a total slacker because we just celebrated his first birthday. Time goes so fast with a little one, too fast in fact. Nevertheless I'm back, with something that has been weighing on my heart, made its way to my head, and now has to get out one way or another.

I am overwhelmed by what the human soul can bear. Catching updates, blog posts, and stories of those who are walking through situations that would comprise my greatest fears, and all the while they maintain such composure and grace. It is this that occupies much of my mind. A lot of my mental energy is spent talking myself off of the "what if" worry ledge. I curl up with the worst case scenario and pray that my family will be protected from my fears. Facing the fear and dwelling with it makes me feel an odd sense of comfort, because I know I can look the devil in the eye.

He had a routine outpatient surgery a few weeks ago and I forced myself to be strong and not to cry (I was a heap of motherly mess when he had his first surgery). Thinking the whole time "That boy deserves a strong Momma, don't you dare let him see you worry or cry". This whole time, though, recognizing that my own situation is a drop in the bucket compared to those I passed in the hospital hallway. This is what makes me mercilessly berate myself for any harsh word, any lapse of temper, because my heart knows that he's not trying to be difficult he just has no other way to communicate. He's healthy, happy, and perfect, what right do I have to not be at my best every moment of every day? It is a lot of self-imposed pressure, and I know I do it to myself but it has a positive side too. It makes you grateful for every snuggle, every dance-butt-shake, every sneeze, and every slobbery kiss.

It is this that makes me want more. Not material possessions, riches, or wealth... but more kindness, time, and faith.

It has become important to me that I am fit and healthy. Not because I have some pipe dream about a perfect bikini body, but because he will look at me and do as I do, and for him, laziness will not do.

I want more strength and more kindness. Because growing up is hard, and kids can be cruel. I want him to know that you can be kind and not accept bullying.

I want to have a solid foundation of faith because I have felt the fear of complete solitude and hopelessness, and you have to have something bigger than yourself to grab onto so you can get out. I need him to know that you can come back to grace no matter how hard or far you fall.

I want more time because I could spend a million years staring at that boy and at the end of the millionth year I would still beg for more time. However, the antithesis of this is that when he wakes up screaming from teething (three at one time thank you very much) although I'm tired, and want to snuggle under the covers, I'm grateful he needs me. Because one day, he won't need me in the same ways.

I want to help others more, because I want him to know that helping others is a blessing. And accepting help does not mean weakness, it builds a bond of friendship and trust and for family there is no higher purpose than to lift each other up.

So yeah, I'm constantly tired, I look forward to get to a point in my day when I can sleep or at least sit and not have to think about anything. I get grumpy, and some days I just need a solid mulligan and a beer. But in between all of that is an experience that has beaten the hell out of me and made me stronger than ever before.

I titled this blog after a song that ALWAYS brings me to tears, because of how special it is to me, and now I know what it means from the other side, so after listening to it I'm a blubbering mess and pretty much spent for the rest of the day... but c'est La vie and here it is:

That's my job
That's what I do
Everything I do is because of you
To keep you safe with me
That's my job you see

❤
As my husband affectionately calls me,
Momma Bear