Somehow, in the chaos that was last week, I ended up writing four posts–three of them here and one here. In the trenches of what was the busiest week since before The Kid arrived, words poured out. Lemonade from lemons. Mercy from tears. Grace from…life.

And this is our life now, I’ve realized, this new controlled chaos, this hectic scrambling to get out the door, this gathering of gear and washing of clothes and scrubbing of bottles. Our new normal. The Husband and I acknowledged this weekend that we never knew what tired really was until now, and in all likelihood we’ll never know what fully rested is again. But then, during those days of sleeping in and plentiful naps, we never woke up to The Kid’s grinning face. So there’s that.

This morning I was correct in expecting some post-weekend emotional regression in regards to carting TK off to daycare. What I didn’t expect was a diarrhea explosion all over my shirt. TH changed TK’s diaper and I threw my white-turned-curry-colored shirt into the washing machine, then I grabbed TK and began to dress him only to have him spit up all over my pants and the couch. Once that was cleaned up, his onesie wouldn’t cooperate–apparently the designers of baby clothing think it’s important to create an impossibly complicated meshwork of snaps to prevent a baby from…what? Sliding out of his clothes? I felt my frustration mount, the tears rise, the snaps unsnap and TK blow snot bubbles out of his nose. We eventually got out the door and he slept for the five-minute ride. I regaled the daycare staff with my morning story and they laughed, as did I, over what had generated tears and anger and thoughts of escape to a desert island only minutes before. Then I kissed TK goodbye as his teacher strapped him in with the rest of his class for their morning buggy ride and he smiled sleepily.

Back in the car, the space filled with stillness, I thought about what peace looks like. The diaper bag lay beside me, uncoupled from the recipient of its goods; the car seat base sat empty. My heart stretched as it always does when I’m driving away from my son. I knew I was headed to a quiet house, a mug of coffee, a computer monitor to fill. I also knew all of that would be incomplete; that I can no longer have it both ways, or have my cake and eat it too. I have a family now, the family for which I was created and that was created for me, and the moments of stillness without them are now secondary, just seconds and minutes and hours between the times we are together–where real life happens. And that is what peace looks like, because that is where the grace shows up and the words pour forth–those diarrhea and snot and vomit-soaked times of togetherness.

Last week, when I was questioning the validity of my working and TH looked at me warily, fears of crazy-wife and deal-breaking in his eyes, we sat down and had a come-to-Jesus talk about it all. I had only been considering the narrative of dropping off, crying, and absence from TK; meanwhile, TH had drawn up a spreadsheet detailing the coming years and the benefits TK would receive from my hours spent with teeth. I stared at words like education and down payment and savings. I had been considering the present moment; he had been looking toward the future. We need both perspectives. I felt my emotional arsenal fill with thoughts of a well-provided life for TK, of benefits to cling to in the time spent away with him (as he happily rides in the buggy and makes friends). Of what it means to be well-taken-care-of, and how that looks different across families and within individual lives; of how it has looked for me as grace has led me here. Of how grace looked different when I was a child, different when I was single. Of how my understanding of grace is just beginning now as a parent.

Yesterday our family of three sat on the bleachers of the gym that doubles as a sanctuary. We heard the truth spoken, words about empty tombs and life over death, and I sat between TH and the Sis; she sat between me and the Bro-in-Law. TK and The Niece sat on their daddy’s laps. I thought of all it took to get me to this moment, all the little deaths and disappointments along the way; of the unassailable love that redeemed it all and delivered me safely here, delivers me daily to (this) new life.