Free shipping on all orders over $75🎄

In the morning, when the light glows blue, the Beast behind my breastbone is quiet. She is tired, I suppose, from her busy night railing against my ribs. Before my legs find the floor, I can expand my chest for the first time in hours as she rests peacefully, more kitten than lion. I wouldn’t believe it was the same creature if I hadn’t felt the thrashed sheets, the wet pillowcase, the ache in my jaw from the clenching. Evidence of her nightly romp.

At the door, I am greeted by two wide-eyed children, still a mess of hair and sleep and wrinkled pajamas. They remind me of open-mouthed baby birds. I smush each of their chubby cheeks between my lips, rumple the big boy’s hair.

“Where’s our breakfast?”

“Ready in a minute,” I smile. There’s so much to do already. I have choreographed the morning dance into a waltz of multitaskingpour the protein cereal, set the dog’s bowl down, start the coffee, turn to empty the dishwasher, animal breath in my chest a reminder that the Beast will sleep if I stay ahead.

I snap at the kids when they ask for something because their neediness may wake her, scramble to the closet while they eat and bicker, and choose clothes for school. 

My son comes galloping into the bathroom, nearly tackling me in his attempt to reach the hairbrush on the counter at my waist. He is a pinball, and this morning he feels freshly launched. “Let me help you, please,” I request because his 6-year-old fingers aren’t yet deft enough to tame his hair into place.

RELATED: The Painful Truth I’m Hiding As a Mom With Anxiety

“No!” he jerks it away. Defiant. “I hate when you wet it and get water in my ears. My friends will laugh at me if you comb it to the side.”

The Beast lifts her head at that comment, a scent on the breeze. Could it be?

“You missed a spot,” I sigh, and hurry out the door.

Once the kids are at school, her grip on my heart relaxes the way a hand might hold a bird, never letting go exactly but not wringing the life away. I become my best self between the hours of 9 and 3, lacing my running shoes and using my rhythmic steps to rock the Beast to sleep. This is predictable, efficient, and necessary, my go-to card to play that can be trumped only by an unexpected phone call from my son’s school. It rings like a siren in my pocket and prods the Beast into a fury before I answer an innocent automated message from the PTA. My feet become heavier after that, though for the remainder of the miles, I convince myself to pound them to the cadence, “It’s-no-thing, it’s-no-thing.”

Despite my mantra, she is restless for the rest of the afternoon.

The scent of chaos and overstimulation are ripe in the carpool line, sending the Beast into a frenzy.  

“Did you have a good day, buddy?” I ask and scan his face for the things he doesn’t say. The Beast insists she sees a wince, but I ignore her and focus on the way his left dimple disappears with his biggest smile and wonder which of us is right.

It takes about 30 minutes after school for the kids’ energy levels to return from the stratosphere. I let them unwind with a snack and TV show (are they getting too much screen time?) while I remain busy to stay ahead. Laundry, dinner plans, floors to mopthese become the walls I pace, snarling. I call my son, “Turn the TV off! Homework!”

RELATED: To the Mom With the Anxious Soul

He roars back, no dimples to be found. He flops onto a kitchen stool.

“I hate homework,” he declares, shuffling through his folder. I silently agree to the interior of the fridge but force a smile when I close the door.
 
“I’ll help you,” I offer.

I try to be patient and calm, model thoughtful sentences while the pot boils over and the dryer buzzes and his sister needs a Band-Aid, but I feel like a lion tamer with pockets full of steaks.

I watch him crumple six pieces of paper before he’s satisfied with the shape of one uppercase I. I reach for my last trick and flood the Beast with red wine.

After dinner, she slows to wallow in her alcohol haze while I read bedtime stories and rub sleepy brows. I am just as comforted by their routines as they are, the prayers and kisses predictable to the minute, their fleeting childhood more evident and precious beneath Lightning McQueen sheets. I know that later, I will scan our day for the ways I failed them, but for now, I sing lullabies.

I am minutes from an exit when my son interrupts my song. “Mom?” The Beast sniffs the air. “My chest feels funny.” She raises her ears at the scent of her kind. “Like I could cry, but don’t want to.” She snarls at the delicious discovery and tears at my heart.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I mean I just feel like crying sometimes but I’m not sure why.”

“Are you nervous? Sad? Worried? Angry?” I am one fingertip reaching for something, anything.

“I’m not sure,” he says.

“Deep breaths,” I say to him and to me. “Try to sleep. In the morning, you’ll feel better.” I kiss him and close the door.

I am devoured. 

I spend the night feeding the Beast a million morsels of what-ifs and how-comes and unanswerable whys, her favoritewas it all my fault? A particular feast. I wonder if my son’s beast looks different than mine, and I imagine him tumbling through the house like a wrecking ball. Does he run because he runs from it? Is he defiant because he needs control?

RELATED: Mothering With Anxiety One Hard-Fought Moment at a Time

In the morning, when the light glows blue and the Beast is exhausted, I go to him. I see his sheets, neatly cornered, his lashes dry and splayed across his cheeks. This is no war zone. There was no stalking here last night. I kiss his deepest left dimple. “Good morning, Sunshine!” I sing. “How’d you sleep?” 

“Like a kitten,” he smiles. I inhale, expand my chest, and curl up beside the sleeping creature deep inside. For at least another morning, she is quiet.

Previously published on Mothers Always Write

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our new book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available now!

Order Now

Jessica Abshire

I am a stay-at-home mother of three small kids. My husband and I live in Wake Forest, North Carolina in close proximity to a large family and church we love. I advocate for children in court via the Guardian Ad Litem program in my county and love on the ones closest to me daily in my home. In my spare time, I write, read, and run.

God Had Different Plans

In: Faith, Motherhood
Silhouette of family swinging child between two parents

As I sip my twice-reheated coffee holding one baby and watching another run laps around the messy living room, I catch bits and pieces of the Good Morning America news broadcast. My mind drifts off for a second to the dreams I once had of being the one on the screen. Live from New York City with hair and makeup fixed before 6 a.m. I really believed that would be me. I just knew I’d be the one telling the mama with unwashed hair and tired eyes about the world events that happened overnight while she rocked babies and pumped milk....

Keep Reading

My Baby Had Laryngomalacia

In: Baby, Motherhood
Mother holding baby on her shoulder

Life’s funny, isn’t it? Just when you think you’ve got the whole motherhood thing figured out, the universe throws a curveball. And, oh boy, did it throw me one with my second baby. There I was, feeling like a seasoned mom with my firstborn—a healthy, vivacious toddler who was 16 months old. Our breastfeeding journey had its hiccups, an early tongue-tie diagnosis that did little to deter our bond. Fourteen months of nurturing, nighttime cuddles, and feeling powerful, like my body was doing exactly what it was meant to do. Enter my second baby. A fresh chapter, a new story....

Keep Reading

Please Stop Comparing Kids

In: Motherhood
Mom and kids in sunlight

Let me begin with this important message: Please refrain from comparing children, especially when it pertains to their growth and development. If you happen to notice differences in a child’s height, weight, or appetite compared to another, that’s perfectly fine. Your observations are appreciated. However, I kindly request that you avoid openly discussing these comparisons as such conversations can inadvertently distress a parent who may already be grappling with concerns about their child’s growth trajectory. Trust me, I say this from personal experience. Recently, at a dinner gathering, a couple casually remarked that someone’s 1-year-old child appeared larger both in...

Keep Reading

This Will Not Last Forever

In: Faith, Motherhood
Woman looking at sunset

“This will not last forever,” I wrote those words on the unfinished walls above my daughter’s changing table. For some reason, it got very tiring to change her diapers. Nearly three years later, the words are still there though the changing table no longer is under them. While my house is still unfinished so I occasionally see those words, that stage of changing diapers for her has moved on. She did grow up, and I got a break. Now I do it for her baby brother. I have been reminding myself of the seasons of life again. Everything comes and...

Keep Reading

You Made Me Love Christmas

In: Motherhood
Family in pajamas near Christmas tree, color photo

Hi kids, this is a thank you note of sorts . . . I’m about to tell you something strange. Something you may not “get” yet, but I hope you do eventually. I used to dread Christmas. I know, isn’t that weird? Most kids and a lot of adults have countdowns and decorations and music, but I had a countdown in my mind of when it would be over. To me, it wasn’t a happy time. From the age of about eight (right about where you all are now) Christmas, for me, became like a job of sorts. Long before...

Keep Reading

She is an Anonymom

In: Living, Motherhood
Mother standing at sink holding a baby on her hip

She stands alone in the church kitchen, frantically scrubbing pots and pans while the grieving huddle around the fellowship hall, and she slips out the back door before anyone comes in. She is an anonymom. She gets out of her car and picks up the trash thrown into the ditch alongside the country road. She is an anonymom. She sits on the park bench, watching her children play. In the meantime, she continually scans the whole playground, keeping track of everyone’s littles, because that is what moms do. She is an anonymom. RELATED: Can We Restore “the Village” Our Parents...

Keep Reading

I Come Alive at Christmas

In: Motherhood
Kitchen decorated for Christmas

It’s time again. Time for the lights and the trees and candy canes and tiny porcelain village homes. It’s time to shake off all that this year has thrown at me and come alive again. My favorite time of year is here and it’s time to make some magic. My mom started the magic of Christmas for me when I was little, and I was infatuated with the joy that it brought to so many people. Loved ones come together and everything sparkles and people who don’t normally come to church are willing to join us in the pews. Everything...

Keep Reading

Brothers Fight Hard and Love Harder

In: Kids, Motherhood
Two boys play outside, one lifting the other on his back

The last few years have been a whirlwind. My head has sometimes been left spinning; we have moved continents with three boys, three and under at the time. Set up home and remained sufficiently organized despite the complete chaos to ensure everyone was where they were meant to be on most days. Living in a primarily hockey town, the winters are filled with coffee catch-ups at the arena, so it was no surprise when my youngest declared his intention to play hockey like his school friends. Fully aware that he had never held a hockey stick or slapped a puck,...

Keep Reading

Stop Putting an Expiration Date on Making Memories

In: Kids, Motherhood
Mother and son in small train ride

We get 12 times to play Santa (if we’re lucky). This phrase stopped my scroll on a Sunday evening. I had an idea of the direction this post was going but I continued on reading. 12 spring breaks 12 easter baskets 20 tooth fairy visits 13 first days of school 1 first date 1-2 proms 1-2 times of seeing them in their graduation cap and gown 18 summers under the same roof And so on and so on. It was essentially another post listing the number of all the monumental moments that we, Lord willing, will get to experience with our...

Keep Reading

Connecting with My Teen Son Will Always Be Worth the Wait

In: Motherhood, Teen
Teen boy standing near lamppost, color photo

So much of parenting teens is just waiting around, whether it’s in the car picking them up, reading in waiting rooms now that they are old enough to visit the dentist alone, and quite honestly, a lot of sitting around at home while they cocoon in their rooms or spend hours FaceTiming friends. Sure, you have your own life. You work, run a household, have your own friends, and plan solo adventures to show your teen that you’re not just waiting around for them all the time. That you are cool with them not needing you so much. But deep...

Keep Reading