This past week was hard.
The GI bug hit our home in one of those “middle of the night” sorta ways. You know, the kind where you wake up to undigested food particles all over the floor, causing you to play hop scotch from the door, to the drum set, to the pile of books, and finally to the safety zone of the bed . . . except not (insert face palm here).
This particular little bug was sneaky. Rather than hitting all of us at once, it decided to take its good, ol’ time, slooooowly creeping from one . . . to the next . . . to the next. Let’s just say this mama was dunzo after sanitizing and scrubbing and washing and changing and cleaning just about every possible surface in the house for the third time. (Doesn’t the flu know that we’d rather it come over us like a tidal wave than this ebb and flow nonsense?!)
Today is day six, and I am exhausted. I’ve had too many skipped showers, skipped meals and interrupted naps. Potty training has gone out the window because pull-ups are easier. Our meals have consisted of bananas, toast, and crackers, because #puke. And I’ve had too many short-fused discipline moments to count.
When baby girl started round 2 tonight, I finally hit my personal limit. You know, that limit where you say to yourself, “It’s too much, I can’t do this, something has to give.” There I was, drenched in this morning’s breakfast and trying to decide whether to strip her clothes or mine, when I finally broke down and cried. And only then, did I finally remember to pray.
I’ve had this happen so many times before. This isn’t the first week that life has happened, and I’ve tried to do it all myself because I think I’m capable, only to find that I’m not.
I, myself, am not enough.
I am emotional, prone to stress, quick to speak rather than to listen. I am independent to a fault, I only see my to-do list, and I have an overwhelming desire for perfection.
I am weak.
But, Jesus. He is strong.
When I finally broke down and prayed tonight, I was reminded that God always provides everything I need, if only I seek Him. I had been so focused on washing this load of laundry, and cleaning that carpet, and making this soup, that I had forgotten to ask Him for strength. But there He was, eagerly waiting for me to come to my senses and remember Him.
Tomorrow is a new day, and I’m choosing to lay aside my pride and ask for His help. Because there’s no award for doing it myself (pretty poorly, I might add).
Don’t forget to remember, mamas.