I’m tired of putting shoes on tiny feet that tiny hands peel off the second I turn to grab my purse.
I’m tired of layering bread with peanut butter and nutella only to have it fed to the dog. Why don’t I buy the cheap stuff?
I’m tired of greeting my husband collapsed in relief instead of with an open heart of blessing.
I’m tired of the whines, the tears, the screams, the fits, the tantrums, most of them theirs, some of them mine.
I’m tired of consoling the wounds of opposing children, both injured and at fault.
I’m tired of the dead-night jolt from a small strong voice screeching awake post nightmare.
I’m tired of showerless morning breath that seeps pungent into the next day.
I’m tired of midnight laundry, two a.m. cries for water, four a.m. out-of-bed falls, and six a.m. demands for breakfast.
I’m tired of time-outs, slammed doors, utensils turned weapons, and the inconsolable overtired.
I’m tired of passionate sibling blows and forced apologies.
I’m tired of fevers jumping from babe to babe, pediatrician trips accumulate in a single week.
I’m tired of hot dinners shoveled and cold dinners staled.
I'm tired of grocery aisle discipline while gawkers deliver judgmental glares.
I'm tired of all the toys. Oh mercy, the toys. And the socks divorced and the laundry laughing in my face and the half-eaten cracker crumbed into the carpet. It's all conspiring to destroy me.
I’ve been tired. I don’t remember when I haven’t been tired. I’m too tired to remember.
This isn’t a pity plea, a help rally, a smoke signal. If anything, it’s a battle cry for us mommas who know exhaustion better than we know our last names. Our heads spin mom and mommy and MAAAAA!!!!! ringing tired ears. Remember those first congratulatory cards greeting the Mr. and Mrs. in your mailbox, the pride of your new last name applauding you from postmarked envelopes? Yeah, me neither. All I can remember is that the boy needs shoes that fit and the girl doesn’t like the way I cut off the tops of the strawberries and the baby’s bottle hasn’t been found since yesterday morning.
And I know. I know you whose tears stain your bedside, the unanswered prayers for life in your barren womb. You are tired, willing to max out every credit card the banks will grant just so you can have a chance at carrying life.
You would do anything to be tired like me.
And I would do anything for you to be able to relate. Because motherhood really is magical. It’s beautiful. It’s precious. It’s life-giving and life-loving. And it's exhausting.
This life. Where grace breathes with each exhale, salty grace pooled tears, life draining life. What one needs to thrive another loses to love. And it breaks a momma and a wannabe momma. And we’re tired. We’re all just so tired.