When it rains, it pours. That’s what they say. For me, triplet storms are the norm.
I stare at my reflection, unable to recognize the face staring back at me. Eleven years ago, BK (Before Kids), I used to be pretty. Not drop-dead gorgeous, but cute enough to get a second look or an occasional honk or whistle from a passing car (back when that was still allowed). Investing all my time and energy into giving my children the best opportunities possible has enabled them to flourish, but has left me depleted. My previously toned body appears lifeless and drained. Muscle definition is non-existent. My hairstyle is a permanent ponytail. Is this really me?
Hubby arrives home to the bombardment of children on all sides. Everyone wants his attention all at once. Lifting the baby to his hip and grabbing a toddler hand, our eyes meet. His look speaks sheer exhaustion. I can tell by his smile that he just needs to unwind from the day, relax and be alone, but that quiet place is difficult to find with a houseful of kiddos. Life at work must be more peaceful than this. The void in my heart makes me realize it has been a while since we have talked, just the two of us, uninterrupted. The distance between us is mere feet, but the chasm feels far and wide. Is this really us?
I’m folding the mountain of laundry heaped upon my bed and spy the cover of my Bible on my dresser. The sun’s rays expose the specks of dust previously hidden in the dark. I let the partially folded onesie fall from my hand and gently, longingly wipe the filth of time from the neglected Word. Pray without ceasing. These are not just Pastor’s words, but God’s inspired Word spoken through the Apostle Paul. How am I supposed to daily spend time in God’s Word, pray, and train up my children to know the One True God, when I have mouths to feed and laundry to fold and shopping to do? Is this really life?
A failure. Defeated. Incompetent. Moms have existed since Eve birthed Cain. Somehow everyone else is able to get it all done. Moms remain fit, have strong marriages, and maintain their faith. Maybe it’s just me.
The house is now preciously still with slumbering babes. Hubby gently taps the empty spot on the couch next to him, beckoning me to come and sit with him. Just the two of us. The floodgates open as my defeated heart struggles to make sense of my ineptness.
“We could start walking every morning before I go to work,” Hubby suggests.
“What would we do with the kids?” I counter.
“Our oldest is twelve! If she’s old enough to babysit other people’s kids, surely we can leave them alone and asleep while we go for an early morning walk!” Hubby returns.
One mile a morning turns into two, eventually doubling to four. Speed walking together, twenty miles per week, the muscle tone begins to return to our previously unused bodies. As we walk, we talk. The man I fell in love with so many years ago is still there and still mine; I just hadn’t been able to see him through the wall which had been erected between us. As we walk, we begin to pray. This unique bond begins to build between the three of us as we walk and talk and pray.
Hubby and I just celebrated our 15th anniversary of walking together. We continue to walk through these storms of life, with our bond growing stronger every step. Even if our umbrella flips inside-out, we know He will always hold us fast.
(Article originally published in Joyful Living Magazine, Winter 2023)
Photo by Amy Humphries on Unsplash