The first two weeks after child birth suck. I just have to remember that and not get my expectations up. But even this third time around, I feel like I should have it all together a few days after getting home from the hospital. Hasn't happened yet. And that makes me depressed.
Add on the fact that nursing is a nightmare and I loathe my child every time she wants to eat and that equals no bonding with adorable new baby and tons of guilt. Reading everyone's blogs about how great General Conference was and how much having children has made them realize God's love for them doesn't help either.
Why am I such a bad mother who can't wait for her kids to go to sleep at night and give me some peace? Why can't I enjoy little moments? Why has raising kids erased the humor from my life instead of multiplying it? What happened to spontaneity and fun? Are my children going to look back on childhood with fondness or dread?
Just when I think I can't take it any more, I find these pictures on the computer:
And then, as I was walking by Addison's bedroom (he listens to books on CD or Primary songs before he goes to sleep) I heard this line from the song, "He Sent His Son."
How could the Father tell the world of sacrifice, of death?
He sent his Son to die for us and rise with living breath.
He sent his Son to die for us and rise with living breath.
And I remembered that trials are part of the reason we are here on earth. And no matter what sacrifices I have to make for my children, no matter what pain I bear for their sakes, Jesus Christ has borne much worse and loved us much more. And knowing that, I think perhaps motherhood can be a bit more manageable.






