We were driving home from my woman's bible study this week and gosh, I wish I had my camera with me. I packed a sandwich for the little man knowing that he'd be losing his mind and be hungry and tired by the time it was over, so I tried to be prepared. I pick him up from the daycare, he's playing with some blocks in the corner with another kid. I'm so proud to see him interacting and not being held by an adult or crying for his mee-mee (binky. When he gets tired, he chants mee-mee to let us know.) Anyway. I put him in the car and give him his peanut butter and jelly. He's happily eating it and saying, "Mmmmmm" in between bites as we drive home. I smile. The world is perfect. My little guy is SO big now. I'm beaming with pride. I turn up the radio. Lady Gaga is on. Conrad recognizes the song and starts shouting, "GaGa-GaGa!" He kicks his legs and bobs up and down in his car seat. I laugh and look back at him in he rear view mirror.
He has successfully pulled apart his sandwich is smearing it into his skin. Awesome. I'm laughing. I mean, really it's kind of hilarious. He sees me laughing and starts laughing....and starts smashing the bread and jelly even harder into his face-AND INTO HIS EYES. His laughter turns to crying rather quickly when he realizes that the jelly is sticky and making it hard to open his eyes. I'm sure it probably stings. I'm thinking, do i pull over and clean him up or do I just gun it til we get home. I get home as fast as possible. By the time I screech to a halt, he's having a full blown fight with the sticky jelly mess on his face. He's smacking himself, yelling, "NO, NO!" over and over in protest to the self torture he's inflicted upon himself. Sad day. I'm no longer laughing or smiling either.
I'm at the point of having to count to ten and I'm taking deep breaths So I don't explode on my poor little man and tell him to "SHUT IT! SHUT IT RIGHT NOW!" Like I want to. I say nothing and listen to the screaming. I scoop him out and hurry him upstairs. The smell of the peanut butter all over his face is making me gag. I stop to throw up over the stairs while I'm holding him on my hip. Nightmare.
As I'm unlocking the door with my screaming toddler, I hear a little voice in the back of my head saying, "You're about to have TWO! You can't even handle ONE! Ha!" then after I hear that sentence, some evil cackling follows. I sigh and push the door open. "You're right evil voice. I'm doomed!" I think in agreeance. I grab his mee-mee and clean him up. I turn off the light in his room and plop down in the rocking chair. The little one is jelly free and snuggling in my arms as I rock him. He does that little sad sigh trying to catch his breath as he falls asleep-you know the one you do when you've been crying really hard? That one. So sad.
As I'm rocking him, I'm asking the holy spirit to sooth my soul and take all of my anxieties away about our growing family. (will adding more kids put stress on my marriage? Will we become just another statistic of divorce? Will we ever have time to ourselves? Can we handle raising up TWO? We're going to be SO broke...stuff like that.) As loud as could be, I hear the words, "You can do this. I created you to do this." As my baby is collapsing into my arms and taking rest in his mamma's embrace, I'm crying tears of joy as I feel God's love encouraging my insecure and broken heart. Tears fall into Conrad hair and he situates himself and snuggles closer. The room is dark, noise of the fan is calming. I'm feeling him breathe. I'm full of gratitude and in awe of how quickly the enemy of my soul can come and try to rob me of my joy, and how quickly god puts his foot down and says, ENOUGH! These thoughts are lies! You're going to rock as a mommy of two. Don't worry about today, for today has enough to worry about. I am the mighty king. I set out the path for your feet to go. Trust in me.
I will stay confident in my god and not be shaken, no matter what life throws my way or how hard the days become. I must proclaim His promises over my life and remember who he is and who he's shaping me to be, or I'll easily fall to pieces.
This is what Conrad does when I ask him
"Where's Mommy's baby?!" Cute huh?