So this has been a regular occurrence around here for the past month or so. I’ve been hit with bouts of extreme fatigue, along with a few other symptoms. (No, I’m not pregnant. Yes, I have been to the doctor).
I’m not living up to be the kind of person I think I should be when this happens. I’m not coming up with new activities. I’m not cleaning up the carpet of toys on the floor. I’m not even playing games or reading books sometimes, even though I’m already on the floor. I’m not spending much time with Wes (conscious time, anyway). I’m definitely not doing dishes for the third time today. I’m letting the kids watch more tv and eat hot dogs. I’m not working but I’m sure I should be.
So why am I getting a stack of drawings from her that all say “I love you, Mommy”? Why do I still get smiles and giggles and hugs around the neck every time I pick him up with my aching arms? Why does Wes come home and tell me I’m beautiful and that I’m doing a good job?
A good job at what? Napping? Wearing sweats all day?
I take great pride in what I do for my family. I love to cook, clean, teach, create, plan adventures for them. But I can no longer confuse that doing with my worth to them. My worth to my family is in just being. I don’t understand this at all.
But I know there’s a word for it: Grace. It’s a humbling place to live. But it’s the best place.