Dear Weary Mom,

I'm posting this around 7:00 in the morning, and if you're reading this you're already tired. Come to think of it, whatever time of day it is where you are, you're tired. Dear Weary Mom, (a letter to the moms who need hope today)


You may have woken up this morning, and before your feet ever hit the ground thought, "man...I'm tired." You might be sipping your fourth cup of coffee in less than an hour and find yourself thinking, "man...I'm tired." Or you might be headed to bed after a long day with a sigh on your lips and in your heart as the realization that another day exactly like the one that just ended begins in fewer hours than it really takes your body to get rested.'re tired. 

I know this because I'm one of you. A weary mom dug down deep in the trenches of raising the two people I'm blessed to call mine. Just last night my littlest boy arrived in my bed around 2 AM trembling from a bad dream, and spent most of the night pressed up against me, kicking me in the back, and wooling me to death.

It all sounds sweet except I didn't sleep a wink. And now, I' guessed it...tired. I've found that the weariness of motherhood though is about much more than just a lack of sleep. It's a weariness that's kind of like holding a mirror up in front of all my ugly. Some days, motherhood brings out the worst in me. But I'm learning that that's ok.

Surprise, surprise

Motherhood kind of took me by surprise. You too? Yeah, I hear that from a lot of moms I know who thought they had it all figured out before their own kids came. When my first son was born I had a terrible time nursing him, and it turned into the first of many, many things that just didn't come easily to me as a mom. I remember being so angry with God because He wouldn't change my situation and make things easier.


An ugly word, isn't it? But I found it in my heart, and as we all know, what's in the heart comes out of the mouth (Matthew 12:34). Oh, weary mama, I'm honestly a bit ashamed of how many times I've been angry over the last seven years of my life. On the outside, I'm a grown woman who has her life together. I have a nice house, a hunky husband, and two seriously beautiful, talented little boys. But on the inside, I'm a two-year-old stamping her foot and screaming because she can't get her own way.

All I want is for my boys to obey me. And to be quiet. And to stop wrestling all. the. time. And to put their toys away. And to stop goofing off at the table. And to stop spilling their drinks. And to stop wrinkling their noses at the dinners I work hard to fix for them. And to focus on their school work. And to stop fighting with each other. And to be quiet (did I already say that??).

Do you find yourself nodding your head? Sighing deeply because you kinda know what I mean?

Yep weary mama, motherhood brings out the very worst in me. But after seven years of battling, I've finally come to this:

I'm glad.

Lord, have mercy...what if all that junk had stayed inside of me all those years? What if my inner two-year-old with cute pigtails that bounce when she stamps her foot had been allowed to grow up into an intolerable woman that no one could stand with curly, frizzy hair that didn't look cute anymore?

Gives me the shivers.

I've known one too many women who were never called out on their inner two-year-old. It isn't pretty, so yeah weary mama, I'm saying it loud today . . .I'm GLAD my kids bring out all my ugly. I'm GLAD they keep me on my knees in prayer, asking, begging God to make me more like Him so I can be the kind of mom they really need.

So bring it whiney two-year-old me. I know your game. And sooner or later you're going to run out of steam, because I've got all the power of heaven on my side, and I'm determined to lay you down over and over and over again until you're gone once and for all.

So there (sticks out tongue).

Now, where's my coffee...


I'm linking up at the Hope for the Weary Mom blog today with me "Dear Weary Mom," letter. You can too!

You may have woken up this morning, and before your feet ever hit the ground thought, “man…I’m tired.”