I will forget

To all the other tired mama’s who need to remember today is not forever

I will forget the way illness left me in fear of who was next 

How winter made me crazy about hand washing and prayers that no one vomited

I will forget how tired I was when they fought me about baths, dinner, and bed

How long I spent planning meals just for them to eat 3 bites

I will forget how tiring the nights were when I did bedtime alone

How sacred date nights were and how messy the house always felt 

I will forget how big their little problems felt, or how much I wished I had more to give

How I had to pray before I went into their rooms sometimes

I will forget how potty training made me scream into a pillow 

Or how tv time was my sanity or how the few hours of school felt like vacation 

I will forget how I was always living on the edge of sanity 

How long some days felt and how sweet some little moments were 

I will forget what it felt like when their sleepy head laid on my shoulder 

Or their tears flowed for no reason and I wanted to cry too 

I will forget that sometimes life with littles felt like house arrest 

Wondering when it will get easier and also hoping they stay this sweet forever 

I will forget how much I wanted someone to cook or drive or flush the toilet 

I will forget that I wanted them to grow up

Instead they just will. 

They will need me a fraction less each day,

They will start to insist I give them space 

And shut the door when they cry instead of finding me while I’m in the shower 

They will grow up and I will wipe a hazy glow over these exhausting days 

Days when I felt like a taxi cab driver who also manged dr appointments

And wondering when the last time I went to the dr was 

They will grow up and lord willing we will become friends 

Lord willing they will have children of their own

They will call me when their baby has a fever and their spouse is out of town 

They will call me when they are crying because the toddler pooped on the floor again

They will need me in a new way

I hope then they remember the back scratches when they couldn’t sleep

Or the books we read when they couldn’t stop crying 

I hope they forget how tired I looked or how mediocre dinner was 

I hope they remember the worship music playing at breakfast 

and not my inability to be a morning person

I hope they paint a hazy glow over the long days with wide brushstrokes of grace

I hope they forgive me where I feel short 

And remember my shortcomings when they are parents themselves 

I will forget these survive moment by moment days 

I hope we can do what time seems to do best

Erase the things that don’t matter and leave the really sweet stuff behind.