I Love My Job

Last night our pillow talk went something like this:

"Ben, do you think I can survive the kids when you go back to work tomorrow?"

"Honey, you've done it for three years with one, and eight months with the other. You'll be fine."

I think every mom would agree that an extra body around the house to help with the kids is bliss. Whenever Ben's home I can divert Levi's three-year-old angst towards his daddy. When Jethro needs a face to chew on, there's Ben (prickly, but still soothing). The kids have also discovered the joy of synchronized crying. That's when I really want to run for the hills (or the beach). 

As Ben's vacation drew to a close I had some serious anxiety about how I would manage Levi and Jethro on my own. Today was the test, and I rediscovered something about myself: 

I love being a mom. I love my boys and their sticky hands and snotty noses. I love the smell of their hair and the twinkle in their eyes when they give me the special "mommy" smile. The smile that's been around since they were newbies to this strange, new world and found comfort cuddled up to mama's breast. Today, Levi got socked in the face with a Nerf Gun. He wanted his mommy to wipe away the tears and kiss him better. Jethro has finally graduated to an up-on-all-fours crawl, which led to a mega face plant. When I picked him up, he didn't stop crying until I nursed him. To know that God has given my body the ability to ease the pain of my little baby is a miraculous and beautiful thing (as much as I complain about my boobs always being on duty, I could have worse problems). There's still the menial tasks of wiping butts, laundry, laundry, did I mention laundry? But I even find joy in serving my family in those hard, less gratuitous areas. 

I survived the day, exhausted but content. I love my job. I love being a mom.