Because I really do believe God is in the details

I am blessed with easy pregnancies. This third pregnancy is going swimmingly, from a symptoms-and-malaise point of view. The only physical challenge I’m facing is exhaustion. And what’s taking me down, if we’re being really honest, isn’t the barnacle currently living on my uterine wall. It’s the two that have already pulled off.

There was some evening earlier in this week in which I knew I’d never make it through the girls’ bedtime needs if I didn’t just close my eyes a little bit first. So I did what every efficient mama does: I multi-tasked. I filled two bowls with spaghetti. I turned on the TV. And I lay down on the couch. Here’s how it worked:

There are times when I’m grateful that my girls like their noodles cold and unsauced, and this is one of them. We keep a bag of plain cooked spaghetti in the fridge at all times. Don’t give me that look that that was their dinner. I gave them their vitamins, too. We’re covered. Please: they eat their weight in strawberries and mango during the day in the lunches their daddy packs for them. Some evenings are just: Whatever.

Dora, in my head, is known as The Zombie Maker. They won’t go far if she’s yelling vamonos.

I curled up on the couch in front of the TV. So I knew that they’d sit right with me. My body made, more-or-less, and ‘S’ shape, right? So the little one curled up in the upper bend, nestled between my belly and the couch cushions. The big one curled up in the lower bend, using my legs as her cushions and my ankle as her armrest.

I fell asleep and they carb-loaded.

It’s just that easy. Except, do you know the phrase ‘getting lashed with a wet noodle?’ My shirt must have somehow scrunched up and that younger child may have accidentally spilled her whole dinner into my belly button. A little cold, a little slimy, in case you were wondering how that feels. But remember, I’m working on my third kid – I’m a veteran. I just scooped those noodles back up and returned them to her bowl. She kept eating and I never even opened my eyes.

And at some point, the lovely husband came home. And he addressed their needs, wiped their tushies as needed, filled milk cups, and compensated for my ignorance of their desires. He swept the younger one out of my noodle-nest protective love and into pajamas, and ultimately, her crib. He came back downstairs and got the big girl ready: teeth brushed, clothes discarded, nighttime pull-up pulled up, pajamas selected, water cup poured. And onward I slept, until she and he gently woke me. Mama, I want you to tuck me in and give me snuggles.

“Oh, I’d be happy to, my love. Thank you for letting me sleep a little,” I said. I began to sit up. I pulled my hair out of my eyes. I set one foot on the floor, then the other – and stopped. What…was that strange sensation?

I looked down to see that she had woven a spaghetti, as if on a loom, through all the toes of my right foot.

She followed my gaze and began to giggle. And all I could do was giggle, too.