We don’t have a schedule. We don’t have certain things we do at specific times of the day. Not yet, anyway. We never stuck with sink baths. He insists on taking a shower with me. Sometimes we don’t get dressed until the afternoon, and sometimes it’s only to put clean pajamas back on. I see other mama’s and I wonder how they do it. They post photos of themselves with their hair curled and make up done and I bet her legs are shaved. I bet her bed is made. I look at me and my hair hasn’t been washed in what feels like since his birth and I’m wearing this shirt that smells of spit-up. 

And I look at him. The one who made me mama. He looks at me, looks passed the mess of me. Gives me the sweetest smile, the one I’m so in love with. “I’m thankful.” I whisper. He brushes his ear to let me know, “Mama, I’m tired.” I rock him in my arms as he fights the heavy wave of sleep sweeping over his deep blue eyes. I’m thankful for those eyes. I sing Amazing Grace for the millionth time since we brought him home. Sleep invites him in and I lean my head back and let out a deep breath.

We don’t get out much anymore. Making it to Target is our getaway these days. I push him in his stroller and the brightly lit store widens his eyes. We pass another mama pushing her newborn and her hair is in a bun and she has eyes that miss sleep. Looks at my little singing boy then to me, smiles faintly as if to say, “Mama, I’m tired.” And I know, these are the days.

 And these days our living room has toys piled in a corner and I’ve been having to remind our dog that they aren’t for him. 

 There’s dishes in the sink and the laundry’s waiting to be switched over and the fridge is growing bare. All of a sudden it’s past noon and the dogs still haven’t been let out and I haven’t eaten lunch, and what are we having for dinner again? Wasn’t there a magic dinner fairy that was suppose to come in this marriage-package deal? 

He jumps up and down in his bouncer as I cook over the stove before his daddy gets home. He coo’s conversation to me and my mama heart is thankful. It’s busy and draining and I’m wishing I could shave my legs, but I’m thankful. I cook dinner and he smiles as he throws his Sophie Giraffe across the kitchen floor. Calls for me with his sleepy eyes that let me know, “Mama, I’m tired.” I sing Amazing Grace over those deep sea eyes and I wonder how I’m going to do it all over again tomorrow. I wonder if these yesterday chores will ever get done tomorrow. My eyes grow heavy as I rock him back and forth and I say to myself,Mama, I’m tired.” And I’m wishing for my mama to rock me to sleep, too.  I’m wishing for the sweetest graces sung over me.

Just when I think sleep has stolen him away, he looks up at me and touches my face. In all of my exhaustion and worry if I’m doing enough, am I doing this mama thing right? Did I give enough kisses and hug him tight enough? All it takes is that look from him and his sweet embrace that says, “Mama, you’re doing enough.”

And I know one day when he’s old enough to put himself to sleep, when he no longer needs a lullaby to be sung, when there’s time to do laundry and I notice I have smoothe legs again, I’m going to be praying to hear those words inviting me to rock him close in my arms once more, Mama, I’m tired. 

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