The Postpartum Funk

It’s been a long four months. It’s hard to explain to someone who doesn’t have any kids, sometimes even harder to explain to those who are years outside of first having kids. I got in a funk this time after having a baby. I’ve had three babies, three totally different experiences in parenthood. For some reason, this time has left me walking in circles, harder to move forward & more interested in looking behind.

Having three boys has been an isolating and enlightening experience. I was drinking my coffee this morning while my son Asa tried to drive a car across my face. My four-month old spit up all over his clothes right after I dressed him. My oldest woke up with dried blood on his face due to the bloody nose he experienced in the middle of the night (which he also tried to clean up himself).

I’m living the dream here, believe it or not. And you probably don’t really believe me. I don’t always believe me, either. I sacrifice thousands of minutes to these little boys, and they dictate nearly every moment up until bedtime. Not every woman gets this, and yet I do. Complaining about it seems futile most days.

In this funk, this place where I’m a martyr for my children, giving up even the early morning hours so I can sleep rather than read the Good News, falling asleep at night thinking the day could not have been any worse, wondering where my life is going when all I ever seem to do is cater to the needs of my children…my heart gets hardened. My thirst is not quenched, my anger is easy to surface, and I am losing a battle that’s already been won.

Being a mom becomes even less about being a mom when I am smacked in the face with the honest-to-goodness truth:  Jesus is the prize. I am not a martyr for my sons. They don’t need me to give up all of my time and all of my energy and all of my good looks and joys. They need me to love Jesus. They need me to wake up with my knees on the ground praying over my own soul; seeking first the Kingdom of Heaven and then rocking the core of my day with their needs. They don’t want my futile attempts at discipline when I am grasping at straws of sanity. They want my sane understanding and calm reasoning. But more than that, most days they don’t even know they want those things. Their minds are filled with imagination and dreams and wild ambitions of climbing the trees in our backyard. They don’t realize the magnitude of Jesus. That’s why I need to.

I’ve been dancing in circles for a few weeks, avoiding my visions and dreams because I’ve been consuming my time with the needs of my people. Needs that I love to meet. Needs that will be met. But they need me to need Jesus. They need me to seek the prize and to guide them to the King. Giving up myself so I can seemingly give more…it’s a dangerous thing.

Stick with me over the next few weeks while I try to navigate this post-three baby phase I’m in. I’m committing to coming here to write it out, find Jesus, and get real. Because I’ve got visions and dreams. And I want to see what Jesus can really do with them.

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