She was beautiful, there was no denying it.
Long, slender limbs. Athletic build. A narrow face tastefully painted and framed elegantly in waves of gold. You know the ones... those effortless curls that take time and practice and skill to produce. Her clothing was casual, with that perfectly put together air of someone who has either a very good eye or a great deal of time and money to blend all the elements: earrings, necklace, bracelet, well-polished nails, perfect shoes and just a hint of lipstick. A hint of glamour, lest the casual facade fool you.
The truth was: I envied her.
My own face bore no makeup. Well, that's not entirely true. If there was make up on my face, it was purely the remnants of whatever I'd hastily smeared on thirty six hours beforehand. My clothes showed no discernible style or taste; that would be implying that someone had sought out the clothing as an aesthetic expression instead of simply yanking it from the hodge-podge, mis-match that passes for a closet these days. A closet reflecting the plethora of different sizes I've been again and again: small, medium, large, early-pregnancy and late-pregnancy; the vast majority at least five years old and only a few lacking either holes or stains. Styling of hair had long-since been abandoned. Heck, even the washing of hair was of particular concern at this point.
I feel shabby. I feel tired. I feel overweight, sang the refrain in my head as I mustered my remaining patience and tenderness to remind, again, the half-dozen little hands that strayed longingly to touch the this-es and that-s some evil marketing genius had placed in the grocery store check out line, aka the final herculean labor that had to be endured before I could proclaim this shopping trip with three small children, teenager and baby to be a success. Standing behind Helen of Troy with her cart full of the organic produce responsible for her willowy frame had not been part of this equation.
The baby grinned up at me from his vantage point in the backpack on my chest. Grinned adorably, and let out a rip-roaring, body-shaking SQUIRT.
"HE POOPED!!!!" My four dissolved into loud giggles as I gazed sheepishly at the checkout lady and the beautiful girl in front of me, both of whom had turned, wide-eyed with surprise, to face me.
I shrugged. When you gotta go, you gotta go.
"How old is he?" The woman in front of me inquired sweetly.
"Two months." I replied, feeling a slightly embarrassed desire not to meet her neatly-embellished eyes.
"He's adorable." She continued, "Looks like you've got your hands full."
I thought about my morning. About the breakfast I'd taken only two bites of in between nursing and turning someone's undies right-side-out and gently taming the bedhead. About the reminders I'd issued about loving words and gentle hands and how brothers are a treasure. I eyed her hard, skinny legs and thought regretfully about my doughy ones. About how the two of us must look standing side by side.
"Yes." I agreed with a weary smile. "But they're worth it."
Her own smile faltered for a moment, and her eyes became sad. She looked at me again. Surveyed the scene: the teenager and his I'm too cool for this pose; the big two actively engaged in a war of I'm not bugging you! (which can only ever end badly); the two year old sitting in the front of the cart, chubby toddler legs swinging away while singing a perfectly off-key rendition of Twinkle Twinkle; the poopy-diapered baby grinning happily on my chest as if his mother were the classiest, best-smelling person in the entire world. Her eyes rested on him for a long time.
And then they filled with tears.
"My husband and I can't have children. We've been trying for years. I've just come from the doctor. He confirmed it."
Before I knew it, we were both crying right there in the check out line.
My days are long. They are exhausting. We have reached a tipping point where there is routinely more to do than one person can do alone, and I am alone and without reinforcements often. Casey was recently away for more than two weeks, in which time I managed to sneak a shower all of twice. I regularly miss one meal a day; I frequently miss two. It's pretty pathetic in many ways, actually. And ironic: I still can't seem to lose even a pound of the remaining baby weight.
But I was reminded in the most humbling of ways how lucky I am. Someday, my nails will be polished and my hair will be styled. Someday, my clothes will not bear the stains of little fingers. Someday, I will again have time to exercise and shower and eat, and my ears and weary brain will not be overwhelmed with noises and requests and shouts of watch me, mommy!
It is shamefully easy to take for granted the gift I have been given. Too easy to forget the longing I once had as I fearfully struggled to get pregnant. To easy to forget that, as Dr. John Trainer once said, children are not a distraction from more important work. They are the most important work.
Life brings us so many seasons. This season, while my children are small and their hearts are open, while I have the joy of laughing with them and walking with them and holding their hands, is such a short one. Too quickly, the time I have to invest and share with them will be over.
The reality is: I could easily have been the woman in the checkout line. But, thankfully, that is not the life God blessed me with. Choosing, intentionally, to see the blessing and to build my life on gratitude: that is the challenge. To savor the moments I will cherish for all my days, and to invest in things that will have eternal significance.
To smile. Even if my smile is weary, because my hands and my heart are full.
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