It is nearly 1am.
I have to get up in a few hours to run my Bountiful Basket site.
I have been trying to go to sleep for a few hours now, but between the phone ringing and Ozzy going to a dark and scream-ey place... I'm wide awake.
Here I sit, in front of the computer trying to make myself tired again.
Oz just spent the last hour screeching in my face being completely furious over something I have not yet figured out. He has been battling a runny nose all week which makes me suspect teething. His teeth have been coming in with a lot of snotty, whiney baby fanfare lately. I'm wishing they would hurry up and be here. Truly, Oz is proving to be the most difficult teether of all the kids. Poor boy.
While he was sobbing and flopping and crawling and head butting and scratching at me I was really feelings upset. Here I am, willing to love and hug on him and all he does is push away and then crawl back to me, then hit me and scream at me, then reach for me when I finally reach my limit and I set him on the floor while I take a mommy time out to brush my teeth (tooth brushing soothes me, I don't get it either).
Boy, I wish I could throw tantrums sometimes. I wish I could scream at the world. What I wish the most is that I could have my fit and just lash out and know that someone would still be waiting for me, right by my side, who would still want to hug and hold me after all that flailing and drama and carrying on.
I guess that is what God does for us.
Those are the thoughts I'm having while I brush my teeth and take my timeout.
Then I remember.
Yep, I am tired. Yep, I have work to do in the morning. But this moment isn't about me. It is about a tired, frustrated little boy who is sobbing and crawling behind me as I pace back and forth brushing every inch of every tooth. He has been battling me for hours now, yet he is following me around, crying for me to help him somehow.
I want to go to bed.
I need to do something else.
So, I go to my carrier closet (yes, I do have a closet of baby carriers. Don't you?) and I pull out the magic wrap I save for the late night crisis that always comes with babies at some point or another (and another and another). Mr. Hysterical screams while I get all adjusted and then as I lift him up and settle him into this wrap... silence.
He cries a bit here and there for a few more minutes as he rubs his eyes and I wipe his nose.
Then he rubs his face into my fuzzy blue robe and falls back asleep.
And here we are.
Two tired people, one tiny and one less tiny.
As I sit here at the computer and sway back and forth with this little one sleeping on me I am humbled and a bit disappointed in myself and my lack of patience.
Parenting is hard. Sometimes, especially late at night, it feels almost impossible. How in the world do we get it right when that child you love is so busy fighting the one person who is trying so hard to help them?
I'm realizing sometimes I make it too complicated. Give him the binky. Sing a song. Bounce him, talk to him... he doesn't want that.
He wants me to hold him in that familiar way and he just wants me to love him, even when he is snotty and screaming and not all that adorable.
My job is actually so easy.
I can do that. I can hold him.
Morning will come too soon, I am all too aware of this.
Of course, many mornings will come too soon and he'll become too big for me to carry around in a baby carrier.
But no matter how big he becomes, I hope I can remember to keep it simple and just love him. Especially when he is snotty and screaming and not all that adorable.
I'm finally feelings tired again. I find myself wondering how in the world God is able to love us when so many of us are constantly fighting him when all he wants to do is love us.
Big thinky thought right there.
I don't fully know the answer, but as I look down and the snoring child here with me, I think I have a tiny glimpse of understanding.