Lent and Emily

When I see people for the first time since Emily was born 3 weeks ago, they often ask me some variation of "So how is being a mom?!  Is it just the best thing ever?!"  I struggle with my response to that.  Partially because apparently being a new parent and the ensuing sleep deprivation makes me incapable of having intelligent conversation.  I'm too hazy to answer a simple question that involves more than a quick response.

But I also struggle because I've found new motherhood to be both miraculous and incredibly challenging.

I feel more full of love, somewhat inexplicably, for Emily than is logical or I thought possible.  We delight in the tiniest things she does - look at us with a contented coo, pick up her head and turn it while on her tummy,  sneeze, gain weight. fall alseep on our chest, snore.  Basically anything except pooping and peeing that she could do we find miraculous and impressive.  Obviously setting us up to be on the more obnoxious end of the "proud parents spectrum".

But I've also felt a keen sense of loss that I didn't expect.  I miss my "old" life.  I miss being connected, spending each day with people.  I miss having a sense of accomplishment at the end of the day for a job well done.  I miss sleep.  I miss spending time just with Dan.  I miss being able to choose to both shower AND clean the kitchen.  I miss the freedom of controlling my own schedule.  Instead of my schedule being full of mostly what I choose and find life giving, my schedule is intimately tied up in some of the most mundane tasks.  Nursing.  Changing diapers.  Rocking.  Cleaning up spit up.  Laundry.  Nursing.

All that mundane-ness would be even more manageable if there was some assurance that I'm doing it all right. That I'm making the right decisions with nursing her.  That she's truly content or knows that we love her.  But biologically she can't really give us that assurance herself, and it takes a tremendous amount of will power and trust (especially for a worrier like myself) to have any rest in knowing I did a good job that day.

I've found it appropriate that Emily's birth coincided with Lent this year.  And by that I do not mean that she, herself, is anything to mourn.  But I do feel like I'm being forced to fast (which I almost never choose to do), forced to slow down (or screech to a halt). Lent is a season, after the celebration of birth and before the celebration of Resurrection  where the church stops, where we choose to give up comforts and pleasures in the confidence of gaining something more significant.  We remove distractions to see and hear God more clearly.

My own tendency is to rush though phases of life I don't like.  To bring in whatever needs to be done to distract me until it' over.  And I'll buy into the myth that if x, y, or z was different, then my life would be great again.  I've found myself doing that with this first stage of Emily's life.  When can I drop a nighttime feeding.  When will she have less dirty diapers. If only we can get to the stage where she sleeps through the night - then we'll be good.  But I know God has more to teach me in the here and now.  He has ways to meet me in the mundane and tiring rhythms of this new phase of life.  In many ways, Emily is forcing me to fast from my identity being wrapped up in what I do

God, give me courage to be present in the mundane.  To fill the quiet spaces with your voice.  To fill the lonely places with your love.  To know that it is ok to be still.  To let go of the illusion that my life is under control and let go of the need for other people to think it is.  God, may I know that the delight I have in Emily is a fraction of the delight you have in me.  And may I trust that your love and joy is present and constant in every season.