Sharing Can Be Hard (But Only Sometimes)

I was watching Gianna struggle with a friend over some sort of hideous princess/baby doll/transformer/grocery cart thing when I first ventured out with the line, "Sharing can be hard." At the time, I didn't quite believe it myself. In fact, it sounded a little lame. Until I thought about it from her perspective. Sharing is hard sometimes. Adults have a hard time sharing. Look at The Israel/Palestine Sitch. I don't like to share my food with Brad, because he will eat it all. When we go to a restaraunt and I order a chocolate milkshake, before I go the restroom I have to leave explicit instructions that I am not done with my milkshake, I will be finishing my milkshake, don't drink my milkshake, I will be v. angry if you drink my milkshake, if you want a milkshake, you should order your own. Sharing can be hard.

Sharing is hard when it means your actual body is housing someone else for 9 months at a time. It's hard when you just want to take a shower, alone, for 20 minutes, but the newborn is a non-stop nursing phene. It's hard when you want to stay in bed for a little bit longer, but the kids are ready to rock. A momma has to do a lot of sharing, day in and day out, and often the people she's sharing with aren't so good at saying, "Thanks."

It's easy to get focused on all the almost-mandatory sharing I have to do of myself around here and forget about one of the reasons I was most excited to have a bunch of kids rolling around: I wanted to share stuff with them. I couldn't wait to share with them the exhilaration of flying down a snowy hill on a sled, or the cozy feeling of snuggling up with a great book. I wanted to take them to the zoo so they could share in the wonder of God's creation. I wanted them to hear beautiful music.

While we've done some of those things, for awhile my dreams of the things I was ready to share seemed to get buried underneath all the things I was forced to share: my body, my time, my life. I know that since becoming a parent I've had to become less selfish and that has been a good thing for me, but it hasn't been without its struggles. However, as Gianna gets older, we move away from such physical sharing of my very body to being able to share the intangibles that I so looked forward to.

This past weekend my mom and I took Gianna to see Cincinnati Ballet's The Nutcracker for the second year in a row, and it was fantastic. I've seen a lot of Nutcrackers, and for about a six year stretch I performed in it every Christmas, but none of that was as exciting as it was watching Gianna experience the beauty and the magic of ballet. This is one thing I don't mind sharing. May mothers everywhere remember in the difficult moments that sharing ourselves can be hard, but only sometimes.