Easy Out

Recently, my life has felt anything but easy. As my recent struggles have mounted, I've begun considering how absolutely easy it would be for me to take a job. You know, leave my mothering responsibilities, sit at a desk, answer calls, scribble down notes, take a lunch break, deal with annoying co-workers, and then return home just in time for dinner.

How easy it would be to turn over the responsibilities of my life: feeding two babies at a time, this one nursing, that one with a bottle perfectly perched to her mouth that keeps slipping and I keep adjusting while feeding another baby, the carefully planned attempt to get two babies to sleep at once while the older girls play loudly, sometimes successful, sometimes not, but always worthlessly short naps.

And what about when it is nearly dinner time and you realize that not once have you had time to play and really interact with your oldest and second child, and you have no real naps to show for it from your babies you've coaxed all day . And what if this goes on like this for days and days and you forget what it's like to even have a moment to think of laundry and solitude, and staying up late just because you're alone.

How easy it would be to run far away from this situation. How easy it would be to give it away to someone else to deal with from 9-5 and keep my cool, keep my grace, my rested body, my witty mind.

Driving home this evening, we sang together. The soft, tired voices of Johanna and Caroline sang words they knew and some made up, babies' cries had finally hushed for the first time in a while.

Sane or otherwise, I realize this whole "easy" thing must be overrated. Since when did women take the easy road? Since when did women turn their back on hard labor, being beaten down again and again and not stand again and again?

Here's to the legacy.