Days and Years

The days are long but the years are short.

I'm sure this is a quote from someone famous and interesting, but I have no clue who they are. That's ok though.  It doesn't change the truthfulness of the statement. And it seems to apply to moms the most.

Between the late night feedings and calming of fears, the dishes, the diapers, the laundry, the toys, the snot, the skinned knees, and the life lessons our days can sometimes stretch out infinitely in front of us. We wonder if the kids will notice that bedtime was an hour early tonight, or if our husband will complain about dinner being either not ready or stone cold by the time he walks in the door at the end of the day. We wonder if we helped our daughter work through her emotional moment, when she was feeling insecure. We wonder if our son got enough attention while we were playing. And we wonder if the baby got a change of clothes today. He didn't.

We are bone weary at the end of the day.  The kitchen isn't quite clean, there are toys on the living room floor, and the kids still aren't in bed. But all we can think about is collapsing into our soft bed (that hasn't had clean sheets in almost a month) before the baby wakes for his nightime feeding.

It is a weariness that never truly goes away. The worries of the day come to us in our sleep. Our children come to us in our sleep too. We let them climb in and kiss their sticky hair as they fall asleep in our bed, that now houses four people, two dogs and a territorial cat. 

And yet we do it, day after day. Never taking a real sick day. Never having a vacation. And I have wondered to myself more than once, why?  Why did I sign up for this crazy train that is motherhood?

And sometimes I don't have an answer.  Sometimes it feels overwhelming, and too much, and dang it, I just need a nap.  Motherhood isn't for the faint of heart.

But sometimes, sometimes, I look into the face of my sleeping toddler, after he has nursed himself to sleep for the third time, and I see his peace.

I run my fingers gently through my preschooler's hair as he sits on my lap at bedtime, and I think about how blessed I am to be his safe place.

I giggle with my daughter as we play a silly game and marvel at how very much like myself she is.

These moments are fleeting. But they are so, so beautiful. They are the moments that sustain me. They are the moments that help me remember why. They remind me of who I am.

I am a mother. I can cure boo boos, and I can calm fears. I can be a helper, and I can show my children things about the world that will last them a lifetime. And their lifetimes are flying by.

My oldest is already 7 years old.  For more than 7 years I have been a mother.  And it doesn't seem that long. It seems like a month ago that she was placed in my arms for the first time. Last week she told me she loved me for the first time. Yesterday she started kindergarten.

And her brothers lives are flying by just as fast. Maybe even faster, because with them, I seem to blink and learn something new about them. New things that mean they are older and wiser than they were yesterday.

My years with them will be short. But my days will continue to be long. Because I am a mother. And that is ok with me.