Attached

I've really been searching for a redeemed perspective to this whole "Mom attached" phase.  I understand it is a developmental mark and therefore should be something that reassures me.  Yet hearing my child scream for the entire 2 minutes of my bathroom escape, or for the 5 minutes to prepare her lunch, or the 10 minutes to grab a shower, makes it...difficult.  

"Ummm...where do you think you're going?"  

Being the verbal processor that I am, most of my convictions come when I'm sharing my heart with someone.  Just the other day I happened to be explaining this whole "phase" to my mom and I had said something along the lines of:

"It's like she constantly needs to be reassured that I love her or something!  Even though I just got done tickling her, smooching her, and cuddling with her..."

The very moment those words left my mouth, I felt a pang of guilt.  Wow, Lauren...what a terrible thing...to reassure your daughter of your love, over and over and over.  Why is that such a burden to you?    

Babies have this innate way to make fools of adults, shame the wise, and humble the proud.  They just don't know their secret power.  The very moment we get aggravated by something they are doing, we are most likely guilty of the SAME exact thing!

"I'm going to play and keep one eye on you at the same time..."

We as adults (at least myself), are constantly seeking approval...all...the...time.  Whether we verbalize it or just long for it deep inside, there is this forever "attachment" to being loved, feeling appreciated or being accepted.  We either incessantly ask other people "Do you think this is okay?" or we let the thoughts of "I hope she isn't mad at me" consume us.  

"Don't you go making any fast moves, Mom!"

At how intense I thought my daughter's attachment was to feeling reassured, mine is that much stronger.  And I know better than to think I'm not already IMMEASURABLY accepted, loved, and appreciated.  Whenever I allow myself to be attached to the approval of others, may I remember the truth that I AM approved, loved, and accepted.  And that's coming from someone who has perfection as His standard!   

The prize winning look as I go into the kitchen, or the bathroom, 
or any other room for that matter.

I don't have to freak out when I don't sense His presence.  Cause I know better.  He loves me the same that he did 5 minutes ago, accepts me the same as he did 10 minutes ago, and longs for me to embrace that every waking moment.  So bring on the shrill screams, Nora.   For with each one, you are allowing our Heavenly Father to reveal to me how ridiculous I look when I forget His love for me.  Like your precious Jesus Storybook Bible says: "God loves His children - with a Never Stopping, Never Giving Up, Unbreaking, Always and Forever Love."

But this look is my absolute favorite...aka "Daddy's home!"

I feel like an astronaut.

There is nothing more nauseating to me than feeling like I am spinning wildly out of control. It could be as literal as being flung around by an amusement park ride and as emotional as desperately searching for joy. 

The deep breaths.  Inhale...exhale...finding a clear train of thought in the midst of tantrums.  Surrendering to the fact that my new neighbors probably think I'm neglectful from how much my child screams a day.

The delirium of singing lullabies to my husband, thinking it's my daughter that I'm soothing for the 5th time that night.

The reality that I have talked more about bowel movements (not mine) in the last month than I ever care to in a lifetime.  

The out of body experience when I allow bitterness to rule and my city walls of self control have seemed to crumble.

Unraveling.  Spinning.  Wildly clinging for something to hold me still, for I'm getting sick. For right when I feel like I can stand again, something else comes and spins me around.  If you've ever seen the movie Gravity, I feel like I'm Sandra Bullock (an astronaut) frantically clinging to something that will keep me from aimlessly floating and drifting off.  

You see, they only had about 90 minutes before that same flying projectile would take it's orbit and hit them again.  For them it was destroyed space craft that flung them into the abyss.  For the past 2 months, our flying projectiles have been ALL the emotions that come with teething, constipation, transition to a new house, and extreme mommy attachment.  Oh yeah, and all at the same time.  

  Spinning, grasping, longing.

The beautiful thing about experiencing something like this as a family is that always one of us is stronger than the other.  And it's in those moments we cling to.  In the moments when Nora is the strong one, Dave and I lay comatose at an early 5:00 while Nora sits up between us beating her hands on our bellies.  Stay happy, sweet child...as you let us rest, we are regaining our strength.  Or maybe Dave is the one a little less frazzled and comes home to stand in the middle of her moodiness and my impatience.  

But see that's just it.  I don't want to live life just spinning wildly in between the time frames of flying projectiles.    The phases that baby's journey through can surely feel like you're in a constant orbit of no sleep, tantrums and nursing strikes.  When you finally recover from one round, there is more coming your way.  It's either more teeth, another new environment, bigger personalities, or stronger more persevering lungs.  

In the middle of all this, I can't help but think of this quote from dear Ann (seriously I feel like she's my friend, so she gets a first name reference):

The spirit to spirit combat I endlessly wage with Satan is this ferocious thrash for joy. He sneers at all the things that seem to have gone hideously mad in this sin-drunk world, and I gasp to say God is good.  The liar defiantly scrawls his graffiti across God's glory, and I heave to enjoy God...and Satan strangles, and I whiten knuckles to grasp real Truth and fix that beast to the floor.

-Ann Voskamp One Thousand Gifts

So...even though my knuckles feel white today.  I will rest knowing that when I draw near to God, He draws near to me.  When I allow it, He is the gravity that pulls me toward himself saying "Look, just look at my glory!"  

So while every now and then I will also spin, flail, gasp, scream...and then get hit again with the same thing as I did yesterday, I will gaze at His glory.  For it is bright, overwhelming, and draws me in.

    

Drip, drip, drip.

Drip.  Drip. Drip.

Oh how I'm resisting the urge to be an Israelite right now. Resisting the urge to completely forget where I used to be.

But right now all of this dripping in my kitchen is making it far to easy to forget. If I am a so called Israelite and my last apartment was my Egypt, then this dripping in my kitchen is my hunger in the desert.    An "affliction" only caused by one thing...forgetting.  Forgetting that this side of heaven life isn't supposed to be perfect.  Forgetting that He is always with me and it's me that needs a corrective lens.  He may not be a cloud by day or fire by night, but He is beauty in ALL things.  The ordinary, the simple, the slow.  Even the droplets of water currently collecting in my mixing bowl.  

So in this new oasis from mold, I haven't found perfection.  Praise the Lord.  I'm up for the redeeming challenge of searching for His beauty before I let out another complaining sigh.  For He is working in the loud things like quick apartment moves and in the quiet moments where my daughter pinches her little fingers to grab.  I just need to open...my...eyes - and give thanks.