Crying all the tears.

Normal, well-regulated people don't cry actual liquid tears every time they are moved. 

Unless they are 30 weeks pregnant and well, me. Today. 

The kids and I had a great morning spent downtown frolicking in the cool sunshine of Riverfront park and playing with friends at Mobius (the Children's museum).

The waterworks didn't get started when we got home--around 2:00pm. 

Kai and Sunny knew that it was well past Gracie's nap time, and I had prepped them as I put the car in park in our drive way to put their shoes and jackets in the closet and wash their hands while I put Gracie to bed. Well, I got sidetracked with something along the way and when I finally made it to the living room I saw that my sweet Kai had made Gracie a cozy little bed on our rug with with her favorite blankies and buddies and had her all tucked in and was snuggled up next to her singing "Peace" (Numbers 24--our family lullaby). It was too sacred to even snap a picture of. I couldn't even move. All I could do was cry at the sweet, sweet sight of it. 

And then a dear friend from Bible study texted me to see if I was home so she could bring us dinner "just because" she knew i'd been fighting off a mean bear of a sinus infection and of course planning and cooking dinner was literally the very last thing on earth that I wanted to do or even think about and, well, SHE JUST KNEW. So, she dropped a Papa Murphy's pizza and activity book and popcorn off for my kiddos and I managed to hold back my tears until she left but then, well, you know. 

And THEN, you guys, it just HAD to be Kindergarten open house at Kai's school. Not like actual registration or anything, just a simple "open house" for prospective parents to come and check out the room and curriculum and schedule and overall vibe of the school (this was at the private Christian school they have both been attending preschool at). 

I didn't enjoy one single minute of it. 

I sat uncomfortably crammed beneath a kindergarten sized desk and awkwardly wedged into a plastic chair built for a 5-year-old and held my tears back as the sweet little teacher spoke about everything I already knew but was not ready to hear. I sat there and focused on the little baby kicking like crazy in my belly, trying not to remember how it had just been yesterday that I was feeling those same flutters and taps from Kai. I didn't make a scene and even managed to keep it together in the car on the drive home. 

I walked into the house and immediately busied myself with the task of outlining all of our "options" for school next fall and resenting how early this all has to be done. I filled up three whole sheets of notebook paper with all of the different scenarios and options that we have available to us for Kai's kindergarten and Sunny's 4-year old preschool. 

And then I cried a little because there are so many darned options. When we lived in a small town I think I cried a little because there was such a lack of options. But now I was crying because there were too many and the pressure of the decision was overwhelming--even on a rainy Thursday in February, months before the new school year will even begin. 

I took a deep breath and went to clean up dinner while G and the kids continued to play "WrestleMania"on the rug. A few minutes passed until Kai came and sat at the table and I stopped washing and just watched him, sitting there, taking big gulps out of his water glass while watching the rain drops slide down the big window in front of us and that is when the floodgates really opened. 

I'm not ready for him to be gone from me all day...all week long. 

How did this even happen? Why does this have to happen? What kind of cruel world do we live in that forces us to sacrifice our children for seven hours a day once they reach Kindergarten age? When did he get so handsome? Why does he have to grow up? 

ALL THE TEARS OF ALL OF THE LOVING MOTHERS streamed down my cheeks until G had to come into the kitchen to make sure I wasn't going into early labor. 

And as he hugged me he chuckled and said, "Oh babe, you're just pregnant." 

I can't argue with that. Not one bit. But I'm also grieving the growth of my first born that seemed to happen in the blink of an eye. And I'm looking around at my daughters running around the house like wild kittens in pink minnie mouse undies and thinking about how all too soon they will leave me too and how just like that we are going to be empty nesters and OH MY GOODNESS the tears. 

It was over-the-top and highly unnecessary, I'm sure. And I may or may not be a bit out-of-sorts in the hormone department, BUT those tears needed to fall. Necessary or not. I needed this night of pregnant, hormonal, Mommy grief. 

I needed to sneak into Kai's room after he had fallen asleep and just stare at him and push his red waves back off of his smooth, freckled kissed cheeks. I needed to hear that gentle, loving voice in the silence in-between his steady sleeping breaths whisper to my anxious Mama heart, 

"surrender."

And as I feel with each year and week and day and second, his little fingers slowly slip out of my grasp I know that out "there,"  in the unknown and dark places, there are arms wide open--waiting, eager and overjoyed at the anticipation of his embrace. 

He may be my son, but he is a child of God.

So tonight, with tears run dry and a peace that surpasses all understanding, I surrender.

Don’t fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. 

Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. 
It’s wonderful what happens 
when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life. 

(Philippians 4:6-7 (MSG)

And now I'm going to enjoy some pickles and a bowl of cereal since, you know, I'm pregnant, and crying all of the tears certainly takes a lot out of you.