I army crawled out of the bedroom last night, but the floorboards right by the door gave me away, even as I was singing "Just a Closer Walk with Thee" in slow fade perfection. The hymn is her usual sleep inducer, but I guess a nasty cold will make a baby uber aware of being alone. This baby at least, this Zella Ruth. In the middle of every stealthy retreat, she would reach out sweaty, pudgy hands and lift her chin with eyes still closed - expecting to find me on the other side of her still soft touch. For the first time in almost seven months of mamahood, I kept a log of rectal temperatures and naps as I swam inside my little one's red eyes and employed my own clothes for snot rags (not the first time for that).
This morning I was glad for the sanctuary of Lincoln Road under the sunshine and blue skies of an unseasonably warm January day. I irreverently mixed "Peace Like a River" and "It is Well with My Soul" on the short walk to the pie shop, thankful for a coat and a baby to cover up my snotted garb.
This Sabbath is slow and staccato, long snuggles interrupted by gravel coughs and wet sneezes. Her wispy hair has started to peek out over her ears and we still aren't convinced of its color. Sand or cypress wood grain or amber, maybe. I've had time to inspect the curious patches of length on the top and back of her head, neither looks like fashion.
This Sabbath is not how imagined motherhood, not that I was ever romantic about it. Zella sits in a diaper next to me, in my pajamas. She is momentarily entertained by the feel of her fingernails on her pale pink snowsuit. I am seizing these moments to listen to Epiphany music and write a few rambled thoughts. This makes two weeks of home church.
It was supposed to be a big storm last weekend, but we've heard that before. We woke up slowly Saturday, eventually making fluffy buttermilk waffles and sitting in the late morning window light to watch the flurries gather on the ground. The neighbors joined our lazy fun around 11 am for snowfall projections and cheese boards and card games. Curiosity led us outside, where the blizzard was real. I made it a couple blocks and 10 pictures before I decided it was best for me to pick up the essentials (hot chocolate, chocolate bars, and dark chocolate covered cranberries) and hold down the fort.
I felt like a real mom - you know, the kind that stays inside so there is something warm to eat when the cold adventurers are soaked to the bone. With Zella Ruth still strapped to my front, I started the soup in between capitalized texts to all my adventuring friends: MTA IS SHUTTING DOWN AT 4! MAKE SURE YOU CAN GET HOME.
Then my husband called,
"Hey, is it ok if everyone comes over?" "Yeah, that's fine, but I don't think they'll be able to get home..." "I know, how do you feel about having all of them spend the night?" "Oh.... Ohhhhhh! Oh. Yes, uh, ok yeah. Yep, let's do it. Ok, yeah!"
And that's how nine pairs of boots found their way to our door, wet layers got draped over radiators and shower curtains, and a vegetable chicken soup doubled in depth.
I can't be certain, but I think it was a full house.
The crowd huddled around stovetop hot chocolate and chips and salsa and hummus before the soup was ladled out to a stack of bowls. And somewhere into the evening in between board games, those who could find dry socks fetched groceries for a second dinner from our corner market.
All the ingredients for our church's monthly Burrito Bar were sliced and diced in the fridge when we found out church was canceled the next day... so the breakfast menu was easily set and additional invites were sent out to friends and neighbors.
And that is how we spent Storm Jonas - covering every square inch of our apartment with humans and board games and chicken soup and whiskey and hot chocolate and laughter and burritos and coffee and a doorstep full of snow boots.
Every square inch.
The living room full of sleeping bags and the clogged bathroom sink and the tiny-turned-industrial kitchen and my heart and the slow flushing toilet and the deep, snow covered streets and the baby girl on my hip - all of these square inches.
“There is not a square inch in the whole domain of our human existence over which Christ, who is Sovereign over all, does not cry, Mine!” ― Abraham Kuyper
Now this baby girl lays on my lap, sleep-nursing after afternoon company and before a small crowd returns for dinner. Her cheeks have less flush and her sneeze has less slush, thank God. I think we'll have leftover spaghetti squash... no, probably not enough. Maybe the chicken thawing will stretch if it's over a salad? Ooh, or maybe a mushroom red sauce? Probably the easiest would be some sort of stir fry... I'm not sure.
I never had the imagination to picture this scene - this baby stretched across my knees while I hover over her to write this blog post and simultaneously brainstorm impromptu dinner plans. There are lot of things I do as a mama that surprise me. My mama self is not near as organized or gentle or patient or forgiving as I think I had hoped. I can remember seeing moms and saying, "I totally want to do that with our kids..."
In my private thoughts, I hoped I would shed all the worst of me like old skin when I had a baby and put on all the best of me like mom pants. In my public thoughts, I knew that was never a possibility.
I never thought I would be the mama nursing her daughter while sitting on the toilet... or the mama who wears pajamas all day and then also the next day... or the mama whose life is entirely rearranged by a little tiny human and her red eyes... or the mama who just spliced three blog posts together in order to post something on her blog.
I thought it would be hard, and it is. I thought it would be good, and it is. I thought it would be adventure, and it most definitely is.
Patrick brought home the bulletin from church today and the closing hymn was "Just a Closer Walk with Thee." It makes me feel like we're doing church every time we lay Zella down to sleep and that makes our home feel sacred. It is really what we are after - a closer walk with the One who owns all the inches in all the sabbaths and storms and sleepovers.
Ok, babe is awake and folk songs can only distract for so long.