I line up my two babies. Whose diaper should I change first? The milk baby’s diaper will definitely be the easier job. The Spanish baby is pulling on her brother’s ear and laughing. She thinks double diaper changes are a time for unbridled fun. He has eyes only for me. When I look at him, he gives me that gummy smile that makes his eyes squeeze into slits just like his daddy’s.
I hold my breath and start with Rosie girl. After five years and four babies, changing dirty diapers is still a trial for me. “But you’re a nurse!” My husband laughs when he sees me cringe. Yes. Well… I never changed dirty diapers as a nurse. He tells me I should have worked in the ED like he has. Then I would realize that baby diapers are a piece of cake. He has certainly changed more than his fair share on our babies, and always with a smile.
The golden girl comes in and asks for the red head baby. She will supervise his tummy time, she says. He is half her weight, but she is strong. And she loves him dearly. I can always count on willing help from this baby-loving baby of mine.
The door bangs open and in walks my first born in his new bee suit (thanks, Amazon). He spent his precious 45 dollars from last years vegetable season earnings on it and has been watching the mail for the past two days. He just checked out the hive and gave them some food, “and didn’t get any stings!” I start to congratulate him when I suddenly realize that his back is covered with bees. Angry ones. In the warmth of the house they begin to swarm around his head. I’m as excited as he is now, but in a slightly different way. Thankfully, they are upset at him and not me. I send him out of the front door and they all follow him out. Well, mostly all. I know they are going to be making honey for us come spring, but the stragglers in the house won’t be participating.
I need to throw those diapers away and wash my hands. Is that my phone ringing? “Mommy! Hurry! Baby Luke is spitting up and I need a wipe!” My faithful babysitter shouts. Hudson needs me to see if there are any more bees on his back so he can come inside. Lynnea Rose seizes this opportunity to run away with the ringing iPhone which is off limits to her but oh, so tempting. Her flight is suddenly checked by a pair of boots which she trips over. The phone goes flying and my new screen protector cracks. I’ll have to inspect the damage (and the missed call) later because right now I’m holding a howling baby and kissing booboos while reminding her of the no phone rules.
When I was in my late teens and early twenties it seemed that I had so much patience. I had lots of time for long prayer walks in the mountains too. I also had uninterrupted nights of sleep which I completely took for granted as I dreamed of marriage and motherhood.
Now I am living life in the trenches as it were, and my quiet moments are fleeting. Can my life still be an act of worship to God, even though I don’t have the kind of time I used to have to watch the sunrise blush the pages of my Bible while the early birds sang?
He says that when I serve these little ones, I am serving Him. When I change that diaper, untangle that hair, wipe that face, take interest in the projects of that little entrepreneur, it is more than just being a good mommy. It’s performing an act of worship to my Maker. He created these children and entrusted them to me. I am loving Him in the person of my children.