Hi God, it’s me . . . the tired mom.
I was up all night with a sick baby. Every 20 minutes, he needed comfort. Each time I felt myself relax and close my eyes, the baby needed me. When he finally settled down around 5 a.m., the toddlers crawled in bed to snuggle. My days start with tears, diapers, messes, and snacks . . . so many snacks. This routine is exhausting.
I used to be full of energy. I used to make things happen. Once upon a time, I had big dreams. Now, my only wish (and what I’ve wanted for my birthday for the last three years) is a long, uninterrupted nap. Wouldn’t it be nice if mothers were prescribed daily naps? One can dream. For now, I guess I’ve gotta skip my Netflix shows (and actual adult conversations with my husband) and hit the hay super early. I need to be asleep by 9, so I have to be in bed by 8. If I don’t get decent sleep, my little world crumbles.
Dear God, it’s me . . . the tired mom. And I have nothing to offer you right now.
I’m so tired, my tired is tired. And I’m tired of being so tired all the time.
I know it’s been a while since our little family celebrated Sabbath. But, God, you know how tired I am.
Church is exhausting. Getting two toddlers and a baby ready for Sunday service is simply hard—and adds to my tired. I hate being tired.
I take my vitamins, drink water, try to avoid sugar, but the tired still creeps in. Maybe the new B-complex supplement will give me the boost I need to return to society. Right now, I’m simply surviving on drip coffee and car naps. The car naps save me. I load all three kids up, drive to a coffee shop far away, and just sit. I sit in silence drinking my coffee and think about how tired I am.
I wish someone would strap me in a car seat and make me take a nap.
Sometimes during the long car drives, I pray or listen to a podcast.
Dear God, it’s me . . . I’m too tired to pray. But I’m here, and I haven’t forgotten You. One day I will pray more.
Right now, my prayers are interrupted by kids asking for another snack. My thoughts are scattered because I’m trying to find a lost glove, a robot toy, and the baby’s applesauce before total chaos breaks out. Spoiler alert—I never beat the chaos clock.
But you already know how tired I am, right? And when I complain about how tired I am, You don’t tell me to drink more water, workout at 5 a.m., and keep taking those vitamins even though they taste awful.
You just say, “I know.”
Dear God, it’s me . . . the tired mom. I have nothing to offer you, except for my very tired self. And lately, I’m finding less self and more tired. So, I don’t really know who I am most days except mother and housekeeper to three wonderful, but exhausting children.
I guess I am like my child in many ways. I need you every 20 minutes. I am restless. I ask you a million questions. “Why won’t my kids go to sleep?!” is my favorite one. I don’t have much to offer you except quick prayers as I sip my cold coffee and roll my eyes because I have to scrounge up another snack. (I’m trying to break the eye-rolling habit. It’s hard.)
Dear God, I bring you my tired—all of it. I bring you my weary mind and my overwhelmed heart. Thank you for accepting me just as I am. And in another season we will go back to church.
I haven’t forgotten. I am just tired.