I'm not sure where I went wrong. I don't know if one day I decided that I deserved my son because I grieved Gracia's death hard and did my duty serving God well enough that I believed that being a Mommy to a newborn would be joyous, easy and pleasant. Why did I forget how hard the sleepless nights and nursing would be? Especially on top of the normal demands of life. Why did I think balancing all of my duties would be easy. I was never promised easy. Along with all these responsibilities God also gave me the Holy Spirit. I may not always bear fruit but I know He is able, but I am weak. It's a fight of the flesh. Flesh is winning, which means that I am losing.
14 weeks have flown by. I no longer have a new born, I have a 3 month old. He rolls over, he sheepishly smiles, he watches his Daddy's every move. He doesn't nap, he has a never ending pit for a tummy, he cries when I put him down. He needs me. Which makes me need Him more than ever.
Saying that I am fatigued or sleep deprived is an under statement. Although, I don't know what I am. I am learning to function because I have to. And because I want to.
Most days I pretend that my matted hair, shirt drenched in spit up and yesterdays make-up is glamorous. This is what I have prayed for. This is what my heart has yearned for. I should be happy, right?
I have learned to whisper "Meet with me. Meet with me, Lord. Will you meet with me?"
As I rock Simon for an afternoon nap, I start to sing. Not for him, but for me. Songs fill my heart and I forget that I need to be quiet. My soul needs to be soothed. So I sing boldly, making each word count. Making each word a plea. Show me You are good. That You are worthy. Tears start to escape my weary eyes and I look down at the child I am holding. He's asleep. And I am quieted.
God met with me.