It Gets Easier

It gets easier. Oh my God, it gets easier.


But other things seem to get harder.


Like selfishness. Or vanity. Or trusting. Why is it so hard to trust sometimes?

Levi is Levi now. He’s a little man. I know him now. He’s predictable, which makes the day predictable. And he spends most of his day laughing a sound that is more like a car starting, and absolutely absurd to listen to. No matter how many times we tell him that isn’t how you laugh he doesn’t listen, he just keeps on starting up his engine.


FInally, I do not know what I would have done without him. Finally. I get it now. Motherhood. It took a while, but it’s here. And God it’s beautiful and full of torture. What an interesting idea God had, children. Being a mother is paralyzing. That is it.


I’m not sure Levi would agree, that motherhood has finally settled in. I just sat him for a millisecond by himself and he leaned a bit too far to the left and bumped his head on his swing. Right. He may still be questioning this pairing, me and him.


Right now he is swinging away while I write, coffee in hand. He has a scowl on his face, much similar to the look that is always on my face. Throughout my entire life people would ask me, “oh, what’s wrong!?” And I’d have to explain that is simply my face, that is the look I have when I’m just being, when I just am. Levi has gotten this terrible attribute from me. He’s perfectly fine, but you may think he’s contemplating busting free from his straps and jumping that swing. Poor kid. Great kid, but poor kid.


Anyway. Routine makes things easy. Routine is human. This is why my heart makes me feel like a traitor so often, with its unruly desires and wants. We are going to Haiti in three weeks. I keep finding myself day dreaming about Haiti, about dancing Konpa late into the night, with the stars bouncing above our heads. I think of talks over rum, the fire taste of it matching the burning in my heart. Oh Lord, happiness is so fleeting. It builds you up only to shatter you. I have to keep reminding myself that Levi is coming. That I cannot be reckless anymore. I cannot run to the river and swim at midnight. I will not be able to spend all day lying on the floor of the girls room, listening to them pretend to be older, acting out scenes of what they believe is to come, lipstick and boots somehow involved. Time. Time is not my own. So then I force myself to remember all I have now, and try to let go of what was then. It isn’t hard when I look at Levi, and he laughs but not laughs, and I forget how much my heart desires to be wild. It’s a good thing too. I find peace in order. Peace in faithfulness. Like I said, happiness is fleeting. I learned this so brutally. And yet. God, and yet.


Do mothers just not talk about it? Do they all adjust so gracefully into motherhood, into giving everything up, like it was as easy as putting one foot in front of the other? I don’t care, but that’s not me. I’m one selfish woman, wanting my time. Wanting “freedom.” But I don’t really want it, not when I look at him. I just reached out to touch him and he grunted at me, literally pushed me with his hand, his five month old hand. See.


Not knowing what emotion you are feeling is a battle. It tires the soul.


Last night I lied in bed sobbing, thinking about this storm hitting the Philippines. I couldn’t control the tears. I imagined mothers and babies, daddies trying to be strong. I remembered what it felt like to not know, to be shaken by nature, so uncontrollable. I prayed the storm would just break up and disappear, float out into the waters like it never happened. I prayed my faith in that prayer would be enough. The fear of thinking about being in Haiti, and a storm coming, it is simply too much.


So it gets easier. It does.


But it never stops being hard.


Or beautiful. Thank God. It never stops being good, or beautiful.



Today, just be ok with who you are. God is big. So very big.

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