I have wanted to post more introspective, thoughtful blog entries in the past few weeks, but haven’t. I wanted to actually complete another book review, telling of how this book called Divided Minds gave tremendous insight into the world of schizophrenia, and how I’ll never again annoy my husband by confusing this mental illness with split personalities. I also wanted to write up a little review on Memoirs of a Geisha, and how I had ignored this book for sometime, probably because of misconceptions related to the occupation of geisha, and how the story was truly fascinating and somewhat sad as well. I wanted to say something about how strange it seemed to me that the main character never questioned the morality of being geisha, and how the religious beliefs of most Japanese at that time were far, far different from the beliefs of many in my own country. I’ve also wanted to spend some time blogging about this John Piper book I’m reading along with some women at church. So far it’s opened my mind to the suffering of saints who have gone before me, as well as taught me quite a bit about the nature of suffering on this earth. We just completed the book section on John Bunyan, and I’m reminded of how I’ve never read The Pilgrim’s Progress and how completing it should be a goal of mine this year.
And my reason for cramming all these potential blog posts into one little one?
My toddler.
My beautiful, bright, adorable toddler is sucking the lifeblood from me. (I’m only half-kidding.) Every ounce of extroverted energy within me is being tested by someone who is less than three feet tall and sometimes refers to me as “Becca.” She is still sweet. She still smiles brilliantly. She still utters cute sayings like, “Peese?” for please and “I buhped” for I burped, but oh my goodness, this child is testing me. She has now added to her repertoire of abilities actions like throwing her writhing body on the floor while shrieking with irritation, touching an off limits item and then shouting No-No! (or like at lunch today, attempting to bite my leg then yelling “No Bite!”), chucking her sippy cups as far as she can when she’s done with them, repeating “Ma” over and over and over and over and over until she’s actually driven me insane. And this is all by 9:17am, before Sesame Street has had the chance to come to my rescue. Suffice to say that by 6pm when Jeremy gets home, I’m ready to abandon my post. Some days the post is abandoned hours earlier mentally.
I am exhausted by this manic toddler action in my house.
Without these three things I don’t think I’d make it through this phase of motherhood in one piece… 1) Naptimes. Praise God for making these human bodies that need sleep, and baby bodies that need even more sleep! Napping allows me to nap, read, clean and generally chill out. 2) My dear friends and parents. Though I only have one child to raise (at this point), my loved ones give me moments of respite during my week—and I have no clue what I’d do if Mom couldn’t take us out to lunch or if Renae didn’t make time for tea. 3) My rock steady husband. Truly, I am a mess without him and still a mess with him… I’m amazed at how he’s continued to bless me even when I’m at my craziest. I especially love him for caring for Livia in the waking hours so I can get a few more minutes of waking up in a peaceful, lazy haze. There’s a lot of love and understanding in that one little action, Mr. Tredway. I do thank you!
Sometimes I feel like a wimp for being so worn by one very small child. But here it is, reality. This is a slice of my life, take or leave it. For now, I’m going to leave it. Naptime hours only stretch so long and, y-a-w-n, the couch is calling.
