So God Made a Mother Collection ➔

Dear Husband,

There was a time in our marriage when we weren’t utterly exhausted all the time. 

But last night, we spent 45 minutes in bed together. Less than one hour. 

We don’t really belong to ourselves in this season of our lives, is the thing, especially in those hours between sundown and sunup. Because we have kids, when the four-year-old has an accident, or the baby wails for mommy, or a child whimpers with a tummyache, we’re pulled from the warmth of our bed again and again. The couch doubles as a spare bed at least three nights per week, and it’s not because one of us has kicked the other out there.

Even during the day, our energy is divided down to almost nothing. There’s work, school, appointments, practices, home renovations, family get-togethers, LAUNDRY. 

And it all makes us both SO INSANELY TIRED

Shimmery, mirage-like memories of energy and 10 hours of unbroken sleep and a casual relationship with caffeine surface in my mind sometimes, so I know we’ve experienced life as well-rested human beings at one point. 

But it’s certainly not reality now.

I think about those days, sometimes, when we were newlyweds and we could sleep for as long as we wanted on a Saturday morning. When we could stay up until 2 a.m. binge watching Grey’s Anatomy or laughing with friends in tiny, ill-furnished apartments. When we could take impromptu weekend trips or make it to church on time like it’s totally normal. We did what we wanted, when we wanted, and we never texted each other things like “SO TIRED” the next day. 

You know what’s funny though? I wouldn’t go back. 

Because we didn’t realize what we were missing back then—the beauty of the things that make us so perpetually worn to the bone today. 

It sounds clichéd, I know. but it’s true. 

Right now, we’re rocking babies in the still of the night. 
Right now, we’re bandaging scraped knees after spills from two-wheeled bikes. 
Right now, we’re mending hurting hearts navigating the hard parts of growing up.
Right now, we’re laughing and dancing and twirling in the living room on Friday nights. 
Right now, we’re feathering a nest with love and kindness and security. 
Right now, we’re nurturing child-like faith in a loving and present Lord. 
Right now, we’re running on fumes, and yeah, we’re exhausted. 

But it won’t always be like this. 

This is a sweet spot in our life, a rich chapter of our marriage in spite of—maybe because of—the exhaustion it produces. 

I visited a couple we know the other day who just had their first baby a few weeks ago. The new father shook his head when I asked how they were holding up, looked me straight in the eye and said, “Why didn’t anyone tell us we’d be THIS tired?” 

I stifled a you-have-no-idea-how-much-more-tired-you’ll-yet-become laugh, and looked down at the mewling infant in his mother’s arms a few feet away, then back into his red-rimmed eyes. “It won’t always be like this,” I smiled. 

It will be even better. 

So even though I have permanent dark circles under my eyes, you run 10 minutes late to work more often than you should, and we both consume more caffeine than is probably wise—I hope you know I am so very, deeply grateful for this physical weariness that’s evidence of such a full heart. 

Every ounce of exhaustion is worth it and beautiful. 

And who knows, maybe tonight’s the night we’ll get an hour—maybe two?!—in bed together. A girl can dream. 

Love,
Your Exhausted Wife 

You might also like:

Dear Husband, I Am With You Even When It’s Hard

Why Tired Mothers Stay Up So Late

Dear Husband, I Loved You First

Want more stories of love, family, and faith from the heart of every home, delivered straight to you? Sign up here! 

 

 

Carolyn Moore

Carolyn has served as Editor-in-Chief of Her View From Home since 2017. A long time ago, she worked in local TV news and fell in love with telling stories—something she feels grateful to help women do every day at HVFH. She lives in flyover country with her husband and five kids but is really meant to be by the ocean with a good book and a McDonald's fountain Coke. 

I Thought Our Friendship Would Be Unbreakable

In: Friendship, Journal, Relationships
Two friends selfie

The message notification pinged on my phone. A woman, once one of my best friends, was reaching out to me via Facebook. Her message simply read, “Wanted to catch up and see how life was treating you!”  I had very conflicting feelings. It seemed with that one single message, a flood of memories surfaced. Some held some great moments and laughter. Other memories held disappointment and hurt of a friendship that simply had run its course. Out of morbid curiosity, I clicked on her profile page to see how the years had been treating her. She was divorced and still...

Keep Reading

The First 10 Years: How Two Broken People Kept Their Marriage from Breaking

In: Journal, Marriage, Relationships
The First Ten Years: How Two Broken People Kept Their Marriage from Breaking www.herviewfromhome.com

We met online in October of 2005, by way of a spam email ad I was THIS CLOSE to marking as trash. Meet Single Christians! My cheese alert siren sounded loudly, but for some reason, I unchecked the delete box and clicked through to the site. We met face-to-face that Thanksgiving. As I awaited your arrival in my mother’s kitchen, my dad whispered to my little brother, “Hide your valuables. Stacy has some guy she met online coming for Thanksgiving dinner.” We embraced for the first time in my parents’ driveway. I was wearing my black cashmere sweater with the...

Keep Reading

To The Mother Who Is Overwhelmed

In: Inspiration, Motherhood
Tired woman with coffee sitting at table

I have this one head. It is a normal sized head. It didn’t get bigger because I had children. Just like I didn’t grow an extra arm with the birth of each child. I mean, while that would be nice, it’s just not the case. We keep our one self. And the children we add on each add on to our weight in this life. And the head didn’t grow more heads because we become a wife to someone. Or a boss to someone. We carry the weight of motherhood. The decisions we must make each day—fight the shorts battle...

Keep Reading

You’re a Little Less Baby Today Than Yesterday

In: Journal, Motherhood
Toddler sleeping in mother's arms

Tiny sparkles are nestled in the wispy hair falling across her brow, shaken free of the princess costume she pulled over her head this morning. She’s swathed in pink: a satiny pink dress-up bodice, a fluffy, pink, slightly-less-glittery-than-it-was-two-hours-ago tulle skirt, a worn, soft pink baby blanket. She’s slowed long enough to crawl into my lap, blinking heavy eyelids. She’s a little less baby today than she was only yesterday.  Soon, she’ll be too big, too busy for my arms.  But today, I’m rocking a princess. The early years will be filled with exploration and adventure. She’ll climb atop counters and...

Keep Reading

Dear Husband, I Loved You First

In: Marriage, Motherhood, Relationships
Man and woman kissing in love

Dear husband, I loved you first. But often, you get the last of me. I remember you picking me up for our first date. I spent a whole hour getting ready for you. Making sure every hair was in place and my make-up was perfect. When you see me now at the end of the day, the make-up that is left on my face is smeared. My hair is more than likely in a ponytail or some rat’s nest on the top of my head. And my outfit, 100% has someone’s bodily fluids smeared somewhere. But there were days when...

Keep Reading

Stop Being a Butthole Wife

In: Grief, Journal, Marriage, Relationships
Man and woman sit on the end of a dock with arms around each other

Stop being a butthole wife. No, I’m serious. End it.  Let’s start with the laundry angst. I get it, the guy can’t find the hamper. It’s maddening. It’s insanity. Why, why, must he leave piles of clothes scattered, the same way that the toddler does, right? I mean, grow up and help out around here, man. There is no laundry fairy. What if that pile of laundry is a gift in disguise from a God you can’t (yet) see? Don’t roll your eyes, hear me out on this one. I was a butthole wife. Until my husband died. The day...

Keep Reading

I Can’t Be Everyone’s Chick-fil-A Sauce

In: Friendship, Journal, Living, Relationships
woman smiling in the sun

A couple of friends and I went and grabbed lunch at Chick-fil-A a couple of weeks ago. It was delightful. We spent roughly $20 apiece, and our kids ran in and out of the play area barefoot and stinky and begged us for ice cream, to which we responded, “Not until you finish your nuggets,” to which they responded with a whine, and then ran off again like a bolt of crazy energy. One friend had to climb into the play tubes a few times to save her 22-month-old, but it was still worth every penny. Every. Single. One. Even...

Keep Reading

Love Notes From My Mother in Heaven

In: Faith, Grief, Journal, Living
Woman smelling bunch of flowers

Twelve years have passed since my mother exclaimed, “I’ve died and gone to Heaven!” as she leaned back in her big donut-shaped tube and splashed her toes, enjoying the serenity of the river.  Twelve years since I stood on the shore of that same river, 45 minutes later, watching to see if the hopeful EMT would be able to revive my mother as she floated toward his outstretched hands. Twelve years ago, I stood alone in my bedroom, weak and trembling, as I opened my mother’s Bible and all the little keepsakes she’d stowed inside tumbled to the floor.  It...

Keep Reading

Sometimes Friendships End, No Matter How Hard You Try

In: Friendship, Journal, Relationships
Sad woman alone without a friend

I tried. We say these words for two reasons. One: for our own justification that we made an effort to complete a task; and two: to admit that we fell short of that task. I wrote those words in an e-mail tonight to a friend I had for nearly 25 years after not speaking to her for eight months. It was the third e-mail I’ve sent over the past few weeks to try to reconcile with a woman who was more of a sister to me at some points than my own biological sister was. It’s sad when we drift...

Keep Reading

Goodbye to the House That Built Me

In: Grown Children, Journal, Living, Relationships
Ranch style home as seen from the curb

In the winter of 1985, while I was halfway done growing in my mom’s belly, my parents moved into a little brown 3 bedroom/1.5 bath that was halfway between the school and the prison in which my dad worked as a corrections officer. I would be the first baby they brought home to their new house, joining my older sister. I’d take my first steps across the brown shag carpet that the previous owner had installed. The back bedroom was mine, and mom plastered Smurf-themed wallpaper on the accent wall to try to get me to sleep in there every...

Keep Reading

5 Secrets to the

BEST Summer Ever!

FREE EMAIL BONUS

Creating simple summer memories

with your kids that will  last a lifetime