I cried on the living room floor this afternoon. The jetty broke, and I let out big sloppy tears that Ezra kept poking at, bemusedly, with his little pointer finger. If you're a mother, I'm guessing you cried on the living room floor this afternoon, too. Or maybe last week in the laundry room? At least in the shower within the past month, no?
This crying, it's part and parcel of motherhood. It's a necessary release for the emotional heft we mothers carry in our hearts as we go about the daily business of nurturing another human being. Nothing--NOTHING--has brought me to my knees like motherhood (and I have had some knee dropping experiences in my life, believe you me). It is jarring to face a task that I can't to-do list my way through. Motherhood is so organic and messy and unexpected that the ways I normally order and organize my life just don't apply. It feels like the first day at a new job when you aren't yet privy to the way things are done and so you smile and fake your way through it. Except with motherhood, you feel like that everyday. Well, at least I do.
At my really low points, like when I am crying on the living room floor surrounded by Cheerio crumbs, candy wrappers, and pillow towers, I am comforted by the fact that not one of us feels 100% confident about what we're doing as mothers, no matter how pretty our Instagram feed is. And I think most of us are doing a really beautiful, heartfelt, sincere job of it but are so adrift in the fog of our own expectations, we can't see ourselves straight. My husband, good friends, a long prayer, and a meandering walk all work together to pull me out of the fog. As do Pop Tarts, Starbursts, and a cold Diet Coke.
I decided today that if having Ezra in my life means mess and surrender and heartache, then I will embrace it. If the gift that is this little baby means I have to throw out my carefully curated life for something more chaotic, more heartfelt, and more God-like, then sign me up. If mothering requires me to vanquish my vanity and shed my self-absorption (no matter how much I love those pet sins) in exchange for some serious, level ten vulnerability, then I will submit. Because I can think of nothing--NOTHING--more meaningful than sharing space in this world with this sweet soul of a boy, my Ezra.