I see you there with your baby and your toddler and your preschooler wanting your attention.
I see you struggling to make it till naptime with a shred of sanity, trying to coax everyone into the same schedule so you can have an un-baby-rupted hour to yourself.
I see you get up early to have quiet time, and I see you trying to be gracious and not lose it when the toddler decides to join you.
You make yourself a perfect cup of coffee and sip it, misplace it, reheat it, and repeat.
You wander the house in coffee-seeking laps and hope that maybe your diet of caffeine and PB and J will make you into the super-mom supermodel you always dreamed of being.
The dentist calls to say they have to charge you for the appointment you missed. Your baby-fogged brain swears it was next week, and you berate yourself for not writing it down or putting it in your smartphone.
You have the most legitimate need for a smartphone of anyone on the planet.
You spend 30 minutes changing diapers and tying shoes and wiping faces, so you can spend 15 minutes loading children and diaper bags and other paraphernalia into the car; so you can spend 3 hours driving around town to get the best and cheapest groceries for your family; so you can spend 15 minutes loading kids and groceries into the car; so you can spend an hour unloading groceries at home.
And kids. You remember to take your kids out of the car.
I see you drop the kids off in the nursery on Sunday with great relief – not because you don’t love your kids, but just because the thought of two free hands and an empty lamp and adult conversation sounds like heaven for the moment.
I see your heaven interrupted when your sweet baby turns tyrant and squalls from the nursery. They bring him to you and your face flushes, you sweat a little, and you wonder why you didn’t just stay home today.
You can’t remember what sitting in church is like.
You can’t remember to do certain things, like make bank deposits and write down appointments. You’re not sure if you paid the electric bill; took the meat out of the freezer to thaw; actually made that cup of coffee, or just dreamed it.
You forget that parenting is meant to grow you as well as your children, and you just want everyone to buckle, wipe, feed, and bathe himself or herself.
There’s hope for you, Exhausted Mom of Little Ones.
One day, your kids will be old enough to remind you of everything. You can tell them to remind you to stop at the bank on the way home, and they will.
You can hand them your phone when you’re driving (because obviously, that’s when you remember everyone you need to text or call) and they’ll gladly play secretary for you.
They’ll add things to the shopping list for you, help you remember that they need new shoes, and remind you that they don’t like Brussels sprouts.
They’ll remind you of things you completely forgot you had said.
They will help you remember that you owe them money for washing the car.
They’ll tell you again and again about places they need to be and things you need to do for them, and they won’t let you forget about dinner because they’ll start asking about it around 3 p.m.
So don’t worry. You will have multiple brains to rely on before too long.
Most importantly, your kids will remind you of your need for a Father who unconditionally loves you – forgetful, scattered and weary you.
Your kids and your failing memory are all evidence of your need and His supply.
He never forgets you.
Can a woman forget her nursing child, And not have compassion on the son of her womb? Surely they may forget, Yet I will not forget you” Isaiah 49:15