Every time my fingers get itchy for a keyboard lately, it’s all mama hormones that seem to come pouring out. For obvious reasons. There is, after all, a one-month-old who’s moved in, twinkled and be-dazzled our testosterone heavy household.
But there are also some not-so-obvious reasons that I love to wade into the deep waters of motherhood with you and swim out as far as our brave hearts will carry us. I thought I might share them, since we’re on this journey together.
Because they matter to me. And that’s because you matter to me. Beautiful you who’s up to her eyeballs in laundry she can never seem to keep up with and those boot prints across the living room from the spring mud and the boys who can’t resist it (or is that just me?) and the running mental list of what she should have done today, how few items she got to, and does it even matter since it all seems so trivial in the grand scheme of things anyway.
For many years I worked in the human rights field as a legal specialist. Yes, I have a law degree. Have I ever told you that? I worked on issues of human trafficking in Ukraine and housing injustice for orphans and vulnerable children in my native South Africa. It was heart and raw blood and guts work. And I loved it. And I believed in it.
I still do.
But, the thing is, there’s another kind of desperate, another kind of needy. There’s the two am cleaning up yet another round of projectile vomit loneliness. There’s the wondering if the Halloween costume you just spent a week on justifies your master of fine arts loan payments. There’s the mac and cheese times a zillion that defies all you’ve ever believed about nutrition.
There’s the desperate that is rarely said out loud because it sounds so petty, even to our own ears.
Because after working for the last nine years in international development/human rights I have become convinced more than ever that God’s heart beats just as passionately for the women of Springfield, Virginia as it does for those living in Soweto, South Africa. The stay-at-home mom, the working woman, the student – with all the modern comforts money can buy – can be just as lonely and quietly desperate as the Swazi basket weaver.
Just because the routine of your life feels small does not mean that you are.
And sometimes, putting that into words is like throwing out a life preserver to a fellow mom.
So, this blog, these words? I guess they’re my way of saying, “catch!” And I’m so happy that we’re in this world of two am projectile vomit together.
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