So Many Feels, So Little Words

Every time I sit down to blog, I am at a loss.

I have a lot of feels these days and can’t land on one to talk about.

I have

the happy feels

because Beckett is stinkin hilarious these days, like tonight when he waited for upwards of 5 minutes inside a closed box on the front porch for the mailman to “ship him somewhere”.

And happy feels that I have a 5 month old linebacker punkin who is made of steel and gummy smiles.

And that this handsome fella is our gentle, sneaky-funny main man.

Lots of joy.

But I also have a serious case of

the exhausted feels.

The amount of repetitive questions that rapid-fire out of an almost 3 year old is un-freaking-believable. And if you, the almighty question-listener, don’t know the answer? Oh my sweet mercy. Chaos.

And the spit up. Oh, the spit up, y’all. It is constant. We went to meet some new neighbors moving in the other day and we left THREE piles of barf on their brand. new. floor. “Welcome! Have you located the box with your paper towels and floor cleaner yet? Haha..hah..ha..h…”

{dramatic sigh}

Maybe even more prevalent than both happy and exhausted feels, the ones that keep sneaking up on me and hiding in the back of my heart are

the unsettled feels.

For a variety of reasons, I’ve been so…anxious. Uncharacteristically so.

Partly because I’m still juggling the two-kid thing. (Do you people with multiple kids shower? Ever? Honestly.)

Partly because of Hutton’s reflux stuff. We’ve done some GI tests, but…still. So much barf. (Also? His soft spot, or fontanelle if you will, was swollen this week and they were all “blah blah blah meningitis blah blah blah spinal tap”. He’s fine, by the way, I just have some leftover freakout about it.)

But mostly because of the immense loss that has happened in 2014.

The two most devastating texts I’ve ever gotten came in the past 6 months.

Two different texts from two different friends saying, “My baby is gone.”

Texts from the only two friends who were pregnant with their second boy at the same time as me.

Baby boys. Younger brothers of Beckett’s friends. Boys that we would dream about as we rubbed our fat bellies. (“Future play dates will be NUTS! And probably gross. With a lot of flatulence.”)

One little boy, Barrett, had a complication in the womb. His brave momma gave birth to him at 36 weeks. They were able to meet and hold him, but he’d already gone to be with Jesus.

The other little man, Miles, was a fighter (with incredible hair). He was diagnosed during the pregnancy with a heart condition, and he fought long and hard after he was born. At a little over 2 months old, he joined Barrett and Jesus in heaven.

Their boys are whole. Healed. Perfect.

But we’re all left a little bit broken. (Ok, a lot bit.)

And…man. It’s messing me up. I’m having a hard time wrestling with it.

I look at Hutton – at the milestones he’s hitting and the interactions with his older brother and the sweet bedtime snuggles and the joy he brings – and I ache. Physically ache for my friends. I ache, but I also love. Oh, I love that little boy fiercely. We live and love deeper – that’s the gift Barrett and Miles have given us.

On the other hand, I get frustrated with my kids and don’t “relish everysinglesecond” with them and ohhhh the guilt. “I have two healthy boys…why am I not a better mom?!” A lie, yes, but a dang believable one. No one can make me feel as terrible about myself as I can.

And when things like the meningitis scare happen? I can’t deal.

It’s all very unsettling.

It’s been a really, really hard and incredibly wonderful 2014.

But.

The feels I’m most excited about at this current moment in time are

the redeeming feels.

God is a redeemer. He takes fragments and brokenness and hurt and redeems it.

He and I have been chatting a lot in recent months (…in a somewhat argumentative manner on my end sometimes…) and, well, I’m thankful He’s also a God of patience.

He has me in the remedial class where He’s teaching me, one moment at a time, that He is good. That He is faithful.

Without fail, when I’m about to lose my @#$* once and for all, I get a text. Or a call. Or a Facebook message. Or a letter in the mail. Or a surprise care package. Or family saying, “I’m coming over. Go get groceries or a haircut or something.”

He sends encouragement at just the right time.

And, awesomely enough, he prompts me to encourage others, even when I feel like I have nothing to offer. (As discussed here and here.)

Most of all, He reminds me over {and over and over and over} that He loves me and holds me tight, even when I’m squirmy in his arms.

So that’s where I’m at.

Next post I’ll lighten the mood by telling you about the weirdo lady who sought me out to talk about family planning. Or about Beckett’s new bedtime song, a lighthearted melody he wrote in which he sings the word “penis” in as many different dynamics and voices as possible.

Until then.