She dumped the Aveda dry shampoo into her greasy hair, added some mascara to yesterday’s, and rubbed the Mary Kay eye cream into the dark circles letting everyone know she was tired.
Just as she finished rubbing it into her skin, one of her two one-year-olds threw his dad’s book into the toilet with a splash. She stomped her foot and yelled at him for being in her bathroom when she asked him nicely to play in his room for just five minutes.
She carried him down the carpeted hall, set him in his room next to his busy brother a bit too hard, and closed their door to a crack. Half-way jogging down the hall, she landed back in her bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror.
This isn’t the mama I wanted to be. This isn’t how I wanted to mama.
I stare back into her eyes, the one in the mirror—me—which are deep blue and so tired. Her toddlers are going through a sleep regression again. How many of those do they go through anyway? And is it considered a regression when they've never slept through the night?
The thing about her—about the one staring at the mirror—is that she wanted to be a mama so desperately. Deep in her bones, she ached and longed and waited to become a mama. And when she finally did, she became a mother to two not even five months apart.
Miracles—she is raising miracles.
Hard seasons come and go and shift and change.
She is in a hard season, and it is not because of her littles. It feels as though the weight of their whole world rests on her shoulders, as she works full time as a stay-at-home mom. It is her job to pay the bills, and feed her babies, while her husband cannot work. In this season she must work harder than she ever has and it is beginning to wear her thin.