95% of the time I love being a mom. I mean, the entire act of motherhood. I love Reed’s face in the morning. I love watching him get stronger and bigger and wiser. I love watching him watch the world. I even love the less shiny things: rocking back and forth with him as he cries and cries while the sun comes through the window, waking up with him in the night, washing diapers.
The other 5% of the time it is usually cloudy outside. Adam is gone. And Reed probably hasn’t had a good nights’ sleep. And then he most likely didn’t stay asleep for more than a few minutes in the morning. And then by afternoon he is so tired all he does is cry. And in the evening, it is more like screaming. And I still love being a mom, I guess, in that 5%. But I am irritable and grumpy and just want to wash my hair. Reed, please let me go wash my hair. And all I can do is pray the prayer that has been finding its way to me since day one, “God, please teach me to be a mother.” It’s a prayer that God always seems ready to answer. God is also a mother. But despite all prayers and answers, I am still irritable and grumpy and frumpy.
But, eventually night does fall. Even on days like that. And the babe does sleep. And within a few short hours of quiet, I have forgotten the endless crying and yelling and and rocking. And I’m just looking forward to his smile in the morning.