If someone had told me I’d have 59 days of straight vomit, with 3 days of reprieve, only to be right back at vomit again, I just plain wouldn’t be able to do it.  And it hasn’t been the vomit so much as the 24/7 nausea.  Like getting up to pee in the middle of the night and discovering you’re nauseated.  And then getting all stressed to fall back asleep FAST because at least in your dreams you’re not ready to wretch.

At first it really scared my kids, the sudden vomit at the kitchen sink, the frequency.  But then, they got used to it.  It’d be time for them to wash up from breakfast and I’d hear them tell Thom, “oh, I’ll just use the bathroom sink, mommy is throwing up in the kitchen”…awesome.

So yeah, it’s been hard feeling so physically sick.  But it’s the lack of gentle mama during that day for my kids that really gets me.  Hard.  I’ve yelled and repented almost daily.  My kids have been scared of me, told me my tone was unkind, asked for daddy instead and been stuck in nap time far past when they should have been.

Recently we had an especially rough day.  I yelled them to naps and they were silent for the next 4 hours.  I sat on the couch with a migraine and just cried.  For 4 hours.  My heart hurt.  My lack of patience was disgusting.  The way my children looked at me with fear and ran to their beds as their safe place kept playing in my head.  And I asked the Lord, frustrated, why He had not provided a way out today–somewhere else my kids could have gone, someone else to care for them better.  The migraine took a back seat.

When they woke up, I went to each child and told them I was wrong, they never should have been yelled at and then more specifics depending on the child.  I even said these things to Oliver and he’s 14 months old.  I fought the tears hard because they deserved to hear every word of repentance and as well as being asked for forgiveness.

They were forgiving and moved to the kitchen table to draw pictures until daddy got home, another hour.  I was back on the couch and they brought me pictures of “happy suns” and “big huge flowers for you mom”.  How did they find joy in this awful, awful day?  I had truly made their lives a living hell yet they were quick to forgive.

I sobbed to Thom that night.  How horrible I had been.  How my sin hurts those I love the most.  In my blubbering it all came out.

God the Father, their Father, took care of Tee, Catcher and Oliver that day in spite of me.  He was their safe place.  He brought them rest.  He gave them joy.  And He was even gracious enough to give them forgetful minds at the end of the day.  From their mother.

I want that control so badly.  The control to make it better for my kids; even when I’m the problem.  The repentance part came easily.  But accepting their forgiveness and getting out-of-the-way for their path to the cross was so difficult.

I’m learning I sit with the shame of my sin as if there is still something to mull over.  I am not resting in the refreshment of a completed work in the Lord.  I feel like I’ve found one burden too heavy for Him.  Too unforgivable, so to speak.  What’s unforgivable is that I want to save my children or be their savior or think that living perfectly in front of them will save them.  I don’t really think this, but apparently my actions prove otherwise.  Gross.

A friend texted me that afternoon and said I’m not a good mother because I made myself to be one, but I’m a good mother because God makes me a good one.  She has no idea how that spoke truth to me in that moment (well, she does now).  Truth is refreshing.  Seeing my sin coupled with the way out is refreshing.  Walking in light is refreshing and it brings relief to a weary heart trying to do it without the author of perfect.

So I’ve been bloggy world silent because my home and heart are at full volume, full capacity.  It takes everything plus much more most days to make a day for my kids involving food, some fresh air, sleep and decent hygiene.  I’ve learned limits I’m not used to.  And I’ve been forced to let a lot go these last few months.

I think about 8 weeks pregnant was my mental break down–I can’t keep this up!  How long will this go on?  I knew at 13 weeks the placenta would be developed and take over the hormone production for the babe.  And at 13 weeks, I did feel a difference.  The nausea wasn’t 24/7.  There was some sanity again.

At 10 weeks pregnant I suspected the flutters in my belly to be my tiny babe.  At 11 weeks, I was sure of it.  At 14 weeks, Thom felt the kicks.  It was a sweet connection to have to this little life we love so much but also think they might be trying to kill me.

This morning we woke up to the 2nd trimester, 15 weeks preggo pops!  I have a little, hard grapefruit ball low in my belly and the normal nausea and headaches.  But there is also hope.  That we have been through the sickest?  I need to believe we have.

We are now dreaming about discovering what our family will look like.  The gender reveal will be very end of November.  The names are picked out–they are names that have been with us since before we had kids.  They feel familiar, like our children.  We are excited and eager to learn what our family has always looked like.

While I’ve been out, life has been happening around our house.  Tee got a short hair cut and he is ca-ute!  Catch potty trained, basically in a day.  Blessing straight from the Lord I tell you, unbelievable.  He’s even dry during naps and at night.  It’s a beautiful thing.  Olly has become a little boy in some ways–wrestling with his brothers, eating with silverware and sitting at the table without a tray.  I love my little men and will share pics soon.  I’ve got a great one of Tee’s hair…and even Catcher’s first poop in the potty.  I know you’ll stay tuned for that.

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Catcher, Family, Oliver, Pregnancy, Tee

November 2, 2010

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