::this is what moms do::

The acrid smell of vomit still hangs in the air, and that’s probably because I haven’t taken out the trash can next to my son’s bed.  It’s about 16 degrees outside and roughly 3 a.m. when I’m composing this post in my head.  My son started vomiting at about 10:30 p.m., and like clockwork gets sick about every 90 minutes.  (Why do stomach bugs always hit kids in the night?)
I’ve already gotten half the bedding in the wash, and the other half which is composed of stuffed animals and pillows will have to wait until morning.  Thankfully we’ve been able to hit the trash can after the initial horrible episode, but that’s because I’ve lain awake for hours waiting for him to stir, which he will inevitably do.  I’ll be ready.

I’m lying with my head at the opposite end of his twin bed, and I’m twisted at an odd angle because he insists on lying diagonally, with his feet pressed against my stomach.  He’s so tired and drained that when I asked him to move his feet a little bit, he just blinked his big tired eyes at me as if to say “why are you here again?” and then sank into an exhausted nap.  So, I turn on my side and curve awkwardly around his body, and wait for the next round of sickness.
And I think, this is what moms do.  We don’t sit up all night and complain about the tons of disgusting vomit we’ve cleaned up or the need to stay awake all night.  We don’t get impatient with the mess or the tears.  We just deal with it, the whole time wishing it was us instead.  We check for fevers, prop up our little sickies to keep them comfortable, try to “catch” vomit (what is that reflex all about?!) with our bare hands, lie awake listening for the first murmur of discomfort.  Because that is what moms do.  And in those moments we seem to have deeper wells of compassion and grace than we normally do.  I think that this is because God gave moms the gift of mercy in crisis.
Dads are pretty awesome too, though, because my husband who is a bit squeamish about bodily stuff was piling up vomit-covered sheets and stuffies last night right along with me.  But he has to preach this morning, so it’s definitely my responsibility to take care of the little man overnight. And when all is said and done, I’m glad to be the one to do it.  I was rubbing my little guy’s back while he yet again emptied the contents of his stomach into the trash can, and he whimpered, “Mommy, this is the worst thing.”  Oh yeah, it is.  “I just want somebody else,” he said.  “Somebody else?” I asked.  I would gladly wake up Daddy if it would help Isaiah to feel better.  “Yeah, I just want me back,” he said softly.  Which is exactly how we all feel when we’ve been sick–we don’t want to feel like this.  We want our normal selves back. “Will you pray for me, Mommy?” his voice wobbled with tears.  And with tear filled eyes, I prayed over him because though I fail DAILY in my parenting, though I run low on grace and high on temper sometimes, though I get tired of the long drawn out silliness and the daily messes, and though I generally feel like a hopeless case for motherhood, at least this one thing has sunk in: go to the Father when life hurts.

It was a long night, and I slept a cumulative 45 minutes, I think.  But, doing this mom thing was a blessing and a privilege and I so often take it for granted that I’ve been given this little treasure to raise in love, security, and gentleness.  When I feel like I’m not mom enough in comparison to the women whose fashionable, pinteresting lives choke up my facebook feed, I’m going to remember that making life a constant thrill of creative amazement isn’t exactly what mothers are called to do.  Loving your kid when he hurts, cleaning up the sickness, praying with them, teaching, pointing to Jesus…this is motherhood.  We are all probably harder on ourselves than we realize.

Today, take a look at your kiddos.  Realize you are not an utter failure and that your mothering can be an extension of God’s grace to your children.  Just do what moms do.  It’s not glamorous, but it’s needed.  Take it from me–it’s a gift.

Glenna Marshall

Glenna Marshall is married to her pastor, William, and lives in rural Southeast Missouri where she tries and fails to keep up with her two energetic sons. She is the author of The Promise is His Presence (P&R) and Everyday Faithfulness (Crossway), and Memorizing Scripture  (Moody). Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.