babies and babies and babies

Have somehow landed with a toddler napping and baby napping (hopefully) in buggy whilst being pushed around by daddy.

When Simeon was born I felt God point me towards the psalm that says 'children are a blessing from the LORD'. Or maybe it says a reward from the Lord. Either way, something good.

Doesn't always feel good. Often I am too complainey and selfish to really cherish the moments, to revel in the gorgeousness that mother hood can, and maybe should, be. So here's a poem, and it's probably going to be terrible, but my sleep deprived brain can't handle full sentences so with my apologies, here goes...

Children are a present, a wrapped up for nine months,
going to burst out of the box, 
going to wreck the parcel,
and it's going to hurt,
kind of a gift from God.
A you can't sit down for weeks,
a you aren't sure who you are anymore,
a covered in puke and panic
kind of gift.
A why are you crying
and i've pulled all the muscles in my neck
because you don't want me to put you down
kind of present.
The kind of present that ruins your life,
your body,
your security,
your rest,
your you time, your food time, your clean house time, your community time.
Your married time.

I don't remember asking anyone for that kind of present.
One could assume that the giver
hates me
and wishes to cover me in korma poo and sodden nappies.

But these presents,
they are stealthier than they seem
with all the screaming 
it's easy to miss the soft whisper of a heart shifting over
making room
for one more
for now we are four
and these presents are wrapped up in so many layers
the velvet feet
the complaints at night that mean 'i'm alive! I arrived safely and whole and the odds were stacked against me but i'm here...
now feed me again, 
mother. '

Mother. Mummy.
Not forced to do this but
empowered to choose this
to be swept along 
surrender control
forgo selfish things that don't fulfill,
to be surprised by the satisfaction bestowed by first smiles
even if he's smiling at the shower curtain
instead of me.
The terror of harm befalling the tiny ones,
the heart break of seeing big sisters uncertainty
and not being able to go to her 
sweep her up in cuddles and kisses
because i'm chained to the second kid
and the first one hates cuddles anyway and would just run off to play with Grandma.
The endless concern,
the fear, 
the gift of caring more about someone else than about myself,
the step closer towards being like Him,
the blossoming of my depraved soul into something more beautiful,
the knowledge of love,
to experience what it feels like to long for another's health and happiness

and yes, to long for more sleep.
The holiness of this mundane mummy life
that I would have scorned as unfeminist, 
and demeaning,
but now I find that this girl who ran national charities, wrote books, bossed people about, notched up adventures all over the world,
has never been so empowered as when she did a VBAC.
I did that.
Me.
Strong.
Screw equal, how about divine?

Children are a gift
and maybe the giver
loves me enough to make me
stronger, 
more aware of the weak bits that need help,
more selfless
more insane with love/ sleep deprivation,
to revel in the simple existence of another person,
of these two people whom
actually
I adore

and who He adores more.

Agh the baby's home got to go xxxxxxxxxxxx