Tuesday, December 1, 2015

Sounds Like Tuesday; The Crash

{Life is still happening around here. Multitasking__ Folding laundry and giving the ninja a bath. :)}

The Cowboy called to check in while he was at work. He could hear the tears streaming down my face through the quiver in my voice.

"How's it going love?"

"All this bickering is making me cry. So and so is upset about this and that and it's all to much for this Mama."

He laughed and said, 
"It sounds like Tuesday."

It made me laugh. Yep, it sounds like Tuesday, and every other day in this season in my life. Life in the farmhouse is loud and busy and constant.

I can handle myself for the first week or so after having a baby and then I just crash. I can't fake it till I make it anymore. My body feels like it's been hit by a truck. My emotions feel like they have been taken hostage by my hormones. And tears just perpetually fall out of my eyes. 

It's not because something is wrong, or because I'm not grateful beyond measure for our newest treasure. 

It's because having a baby is hard. 

And having a baby with a toddler at home who is into antything and everything is hard. Our toddler is a draw-er. He loves to draw on everything. And each time he finds a pencil or a marker or a crayon and creates a masterpiece on the wall or the toilet or the floor, he takes you by the hand and leads you to his work of art and throws his hands up in the air and declares, "Ta-da!" No shame. Oh little man, you keep me so close to Jesus. Thank you for that. 

Miss Shiloh finally got off her lights last night. She's tied with her brother Siah for the same amount of days in the NICU and the same amount of days under the lights at home. 

The sweet girl has given me a few four hour stretches at night which has been glorious. NONE of the other kids ever did that for their Mama. 

__She hiccups after nearly every feeding. 
__Until last night, she has had her days and nights mixed up and would be wide awake at 3 in the morning. 
__She didn't wear any clothes until she was five days old and she cries and cries when I get her dressed.

The baby stretch__ it seriously doesn't get much better than that. 

{Nights with Shiloh in her time machine, aka, her light bed.} 

Life with six kids, although glorious in a million ways, is not all rainbows and ponies. 

Yesterday was my first outing with all six by myself. I took everyone to the lab to get Shiloh's foot pricked and then to her doctor appointment. At the lab she starting pooping. And she kept pooping. She went through three diapers and two sets of clothes. Poop was everywhere. And my older kids are some times oblivious to what's going on right in front of them. So while trying to contain all the poop, I had one kid casually telling me about the Civil War, another kid asking for a snack (guess who that was?), one kid telling me about how loud Shiloh was crying when they pricked her foot (as if I wasn't there and I couldn't hear her crying her eyes out), and another kid wondering if they could listen to some music on my phone. And to top it all off, I ran out wipes and the only outfit I had left turned out to be too small. A little trip to the bathroom and 40 wet paper wet paper towels later, we were finally put together enough to go to the next appointment. 

Sometimes I laugh at these kind of situations and sometimes I cry. 
Yesterday I cried. 
I was so tired, my eyes were throbbing.

On the same day, a sweet friend brought dinner and stayed and chatted for a few minutes. 
I took a nap while the two littles slept. And the Cowboy fed Miss Shiloh at her 7 o'clock feeding and let me fall asleep on the couch curled up next to the two of them.

Each day with a newborn is a beautiful mix of hope and despair, a million small moments that keep me thankful and deeply aware of my need for Jesus.

Every single night the Cowboy kisses my forehead and looks into my eyes and says it gently, but confidently, "We're gonna make it My Love. We're gonna make it."

So here we are, Tuesday at the farmhouse. I'm one tired, overwhelmed, and completely happy Mama.