Nothing More to Give

It happens. It’s one of those days. When bedtimes hit and we just want to sink into the couch because we literally have nothing more to give. When one last toddler dictated command might just send us over the ledge. “Lord, just give me the patience” I whispered one too many times today.

It starts with an awake-too-early morning. You know the one. When you anticipate the youngest sleeping in because she was up too late needing that last drink of water, but that last drink of water late last night had her up before the sun needing to “go potty right now”.  If she sees a wink of sunlight, back to sleep is a lost cause. Momma just wants five more minutes, but she won’t give.

When the morning turns into a wrestling match between sisters, when “I had it first” is a war cry followed by a victory dance by one and a tantrum of defeat by the other. When a trial separation between the two only results in frustration between all parties because no one can agree on who started it and everyone wants to finish it. Something has to give.

When lunchtime hits and this momma anticipates 5 minutes to sit down, take 7 uninterrupted bites, and a quick listen to a new audio book… But there aren’t enough paper towels to mop up one unforseen domino mess after the next and as I brush them off to retreat to the basement, and sit down to eat an already reheated once lunch that’s cold yet again (don’t get me started on the 8 times I’ve attempted to rewarm my coffee), I ask myself, “When will it give?!”

Mommas, we know how the rest of the day goes. No naps. Dinner tantrums. Homework problems. Bathtime struggles. Bedtime too-tiredness…. and as each sweet little face is tucked in for the last time, the youngest looks up and says, “Please just one more bedtime story, Momma?”

And we give. Every. Single. Time.

Why? Because that’s what we do. We’re moms. We’re programmed to give. We give our last bite of cupcake. Our last piece of gum. We give our energy, our patience, our time, our love.

We give our ability to sit through a Pampers commercial unflinched previously only to have motherhood transform us into a blubbering mess, especially during the holiday ones where they play “Silent Night”.

We give our keys to our sweet pre-kid sporty chick car to the Honda dealership as a trade in for our sweet post-kid caravan on wheels. Forging rivers of emotional tears and tantrums through a sea of stomped goldfish crackers like a glimmering new wagon on The Oregon Trail. No dystenary needed.

We give our once fashionable wardrobe for something that lifts our asses a bit more, tucks in that postpartum pudge, and contains a spot or two of leftover breastmilk, spit-upped peas, or a smear of blackberry jam when a napkin was just “too itchy” to use.

We give our bodies. A shelter for the sweetest little inhabitant who twists around, wrestling with their confined space (a preface to their toddler years and car seat restraint objections), causing us everything from nausea to indigestion to butterflies to sciatica to complete and total emotional overwhelm and gratification to meet our little 9 month roommate when they finally arrive.

We give nourishment. We give life. We give emotion- raw, unconventional, imperfect, and wholly encompassing emotion.

And just when we think we can’t give anymore, we do.

Motherhood has an incredible way of sucker punching you in the head, causing you the most wildly wonderful form of amnesia. One that makes you forget everything before children and how your life would be incomplete if it wasn’t for this little creature or creatures who have taken over everything that you now know and wouldn’t change for the world.

My child, I give so much.

And I would give you my last breath too.

xo,

Mom