I had a ‘first’ on Sunday. I pulled soup out of the freezer for lunch. While ladling it into bowls I’m thinking to myself, “is this really soup or just spicy beans?” Because I really could not remember. Five years + four months in married life, I officially don’t know what’s in my freezer.
Bebe Cali is 3 months + and life with her in the mix makes our days all the more merrier. We adore the dishiness she serves us. She’s the sweetest, silliest, shinning thing ever. Ever, I’m telling you. I love my girly-girl so much I know it’s not right and I’m out-of-control and self diagnosed with smitten-kitten-itis. I cater to her so much I fear Gavin and his daddy are getting kicked to the wayside by how I have been smooching. What can I say? I love being a mom to a daughter.
Don’t let me start in on how petrified I am thinking about her moving away someday. Only daughters do that you know. I can count up to 5, plus me of onlys that tore their mom’s heart out and moved out of the county. Out of the state. Out of their arms. I’m just bracing myself. That’s all. She’s three months, people! I’m not spazzing. Clearly.
Mondays are my catch up day. I hustle to the clang of dishes from the sabbath and loads of laundry. Joyfully I check things off my list, I cheerfully attend to and then click close (finally) numerous tabs left open in Safari for that ‘when I get a chance to read‘ day – come on, you know you leave tabs open for weeks too. I printed off those word documents that never got printed due to procrastination reloading the paper. I mend a skirt, a stuffed monkey and a sweater. Contemplated starting a devotional series. Made a crock-pot supper right after lunch. I even played puzzles with Gavin today.
Five years in, two kiddos later. I’m losing track of my freezer contents, head-over-heels infatuated with my Cali bebe and feeling guilty of favoritism and neglect. I’m haunted realizing my daughter is moving away and I am getting my Monday hustle on like a boss.
This is a day in the life of a mother-of-three-years. I’ve changed. I’m not the same carefree woman. As time goes on, the littles get older and more vocal, I feel like the original me is being pruned against my will. Being snapped off and disfigured. My actions and decisions are based on necessity, peeling away finger-licking, cherry-on-top pleasure. Tossed and mixed in. Shaken up and served with confusion, unsureness and Dear God, what do I do now?
That’s the crouton on top. Hope. God who is unchangeable hands us hope. Savory, satisfying hope.