So it’s no secret that I’m a mom of 2 amazing small-people.
And even though I feel like my heart is fully alive (most days) and I’m embracing this season in all its fun and intensity? Parenting a baby with acid reflux plus trying to consistently parent a sweet, all-boy almost-3-year-old is one heck. of a lot of work.
Getting out of the house takes more energy and get-it-all-together-ness than I feel like I possess some days.
So I’m blessed when my friends who are also in this Raising Littles season come over (or I pull my crew together and head to their place) and we combine our respective chaoses.
We rarely get to complete a sentence during those times. But listening to our kids belly laugh as they learn to play together makes our hearts swell, and stopping to referee the occasional (okay, frequent) toddler-throw-down makes us shake our heads, smile, and enjoy one another all the more.
I love it. It’s a sweet season these days with my fellow moms-of-littles.
I need you, too.
You who are maybe in your late teens or 20′s or 30′s or 40′s or 50′s and livin’ the single life.
You who are married but don’t yet have children.
You whose children are older and in school or have completely grown and flown.
Yup – I need you.
And I know I don’t say it often enough, but I want you in my life.
Now. Before I come off sounding lonely, I’ll just come out and say it – I’m for sure not. I’m an introvert. An outgoing one, but definitely an introvert. I really like my alone time.
But more and more these days, I’m realizing that I need you.
I want you to come sit in the big puffy chair in my living room and chat with me every once in a while, during these long days while my hubby’s at work.
[Or, possibly more realistically, to not sit - but to follow me around and talk to me while I sweep up toddler crumbs and pour milk into plastic cups with twisty straws.]
I want you to laugh with me at my kids’ quirks and enjoy them maybe, for a minute, almost as much as I do.
[And possibly to laugh
at with me when I stick my cell phone in the fridge or put the milk in the pantry. Not saying I ever do stuff like that. But, hypothetically - you know.]
I want you to drink iced coffee with me and share your heart and life and victories and struggles- in the midst of my messy/noisy/beautiful-but-sometimes-mundane days.
And please don’t be offended or feel un-cared-for when I have to say, “Sorry- just a second,” and deal with the needs of a precious child 12 times in about as many minutes.
Or when I leave to change a diaper and come back having completely forgotten what we were talking about.
[And when I do forget? Please remind me. You can even smile and say, "Sooooo, back to ME," and I'll love you for it because it means you're confident that I genuinely desire to hear your heart even though my focus is pulled in a thousand directions all at once.]
Thanks for being patient with me. Thanks for taking the time to know me – and let me know you – in this season of my life.
Thanks for asking me questions and waiting while I wrangle my sleep-deprived brain and mouth to form the words of an answer.
Thanks for digging and inquiring and mining the deep things God’s put in my heart. For believing they’re still in there even when they get buried under piles of dirty laundry.
Thanks for loving me well in this season.
Because I Care Deeply
And about this season: it will pass.
And one day I’ll once again be able to meet you for coffee at an actual coffee shop and we’ll have conversations that aren’t constantly interrupted. I’ll be able to really zone in on your heart and ask you all the profoundly insightful questions that I always wish I’d thought to ask when you were here, sitting in my puffy chair [or following me around - bless your heart].
But for now?
Please come over to my house. And please sit in that chair and talk to me, and let me talk to you while I fold laundry and feed bottles and change poopy diapers.
And know that I absolutely will come across as distracted at times while we’re together.
And that I really don’t like that, because I hate the thought of communicating a lack of value for your words. Your life. Your heart.
But please know that my distractedness does not – NOT – mean you’re not dear to me.
That I don’t love you.
That I don’t enjoy spending time with you.
Or that I don’t want you to say “Soooo, back to ME” 23 times per hour if necessary, when the oven timer goes off and my little guy needs a snack and baby girl spits up, and whatever we’d previously been talking about falls right out the back of my brain.
I care about you. Deeply.
So come over, please.
Because This Is Sacred
And really? This season of mommying little ones? Of wiping noses and spit-up? Of singing the ABC’s and roaring around the house like a dino?
It’s sacred. A crazy, chaotic, awe-inspiring, character-building gift from God.
A place of Divine encounter. Grace.
But it so often goes unseen by anyone but Him.
And can I just tell you – it means so very much to me when you come into my house and my life and really see. When you acknowledge- either with words or just by your attentive presence- that this season’s hard, and that I’m living it well before Him – failures and all.
And this compassionate witnessing of my life? And your talking and asking and reminding me that I’m still me and all that’s inside me hasn’t been lost in this season of crazy?
It’s sacred too. Just you being here. Being a blip of community for me in the midst of my days.
I’m not always aware of how much I need it.
But I do.
So please come.
Invite yourself if I don’t invite you. Please.
Sit with me [or follow me around] for a little while in the crazy-beautiful chaos that is my life as a mom of littles.
In case I’ve forgotten to say it to you personally- you are so much more than welcome in my world.
Oh – one more thing: I don’t hate Starbucks, and I don’t often get to darken the door of one.
Sooooo, if you happened to swing by there on your way to my place and grab me a grande-one-pump-peppermint-white-mocha? I might kiss your feet upon your arrival.
BUT- Starbucks or no – please just come over.
I so want you in my life.
And dedicated to Jerusha, JoEllen, Savanna, Corrine, Natalia, Megan, Shannon, Sarah, Emily, Lisa, Raven, Sarah, Camilla, Ashley, Summer, Chavos, Jackie, Anita, and anyone else who has - or who might want to - just come on over.]
PS - I wrote this from my heart and out of my own life-circumstances. Obviously. But I’m genuinely hoping that it speaks to, and from, the hearts of other mamas in similar life stages to mine.
If this resonates with you, why not pass it on? People need to know – to be outright told - we need them.
PPS – Reading via email or in a reader and want to leave a comment? Go ahead – c’mon over!