For you, dear mother, with love, from Sarah and I

Sarah as a lamb

I sit here with indigestion, and indecision, watching one of my best ewes attempt to launch herself up to the hay mound for the thousandth time today.

She has to get a running start in order to make it over the mountain of built-up, wasted hay (thanks for that, you little Ungratefuls!) that surrounds the feeder like an island, or else she would probably be stuck at the bottom (it’s not that high, she is just that round).

Upon arrival, she immediately begins the balancing act of standing on her hind legs and nosing around the top of the feeder in search of what she seems to believe is the “better stuff”. Her little legs look like they want to bust under her weight, and her belly hangs like an enormous balloon. I can’t decide whether she resembles a large, majestic, mama black bear, or spindly-legged Kermit the Frog.

That is me. I’m Kermit the Frog.

Sarah and I have quite a bit in common these days, and, it goes without saying that there are pros and cons to sharing so much in common with sheep.

I am currently thirty eight weeks “with child” as I write this, and, who knows, I may be acting just as “dramatic” as poor Sarah.

I wonder if the children secretly give me the side-eye every time I make my rounds to the refrigerator.

Here we are, Sarah and I, munching away. Munch, munch, munch.

The ram stares off into the distance, chewing his hay, not concerned in the least about the welfare of the little lambs that he’s sired. Nope, not a care in the world.

(Aren’t we glad that our husbands aren’t like that? Not the eating hay part, but the not caring part).

Sarah has kept us guessing on the timing of her lambing this season for what seems like weeks, even though I have a pretty good guess date recorded for her.

She paws the ground, eats some dirt, and throws herself into an uncomfortable heap, just to get up and resume the same routine she has been practicing for eons.

Eat, drink, lie down, scratch herself against some tree branches, visit the little girls’ room, repeat.

And each and every time I see this little dance of hers I think “Aha! This is it! Lambs will be here soon!”

And. They. Never. Are.

 I would say that she’s being theatrical, but, I wouldn’t want to insult her.

Plus, what does that say about me?

I am pretty much following the same routine (with the exception of the dirt eating part).

I am tired (Sleep? Who needs sleep?), I am constantly hungry, and I can’t figure out if I want to just get this Show on the road, or what the record for being pregnant the longest is… and if I am up to breaking it.

I have four children, and, you want to know something that might surprise you?

This whole “labor thing”? I don’t really like it all that much.

Many people assume that since we are open to as many children as we are to be blessed with that I must be some sort of birth guru that has this whole “having a baby” event under control.

Well I don’t.

I still play that little game in my head that goes “Would you rather…” and, let me tell you, depending on the day, I would probably run-off and join the circus over enjoying that whole experience over again.

See how whiny I’m being?

I watch the ewes out the window like a hawk and mentally urge them on to just spit the lambs out and move on to the next phase.

Briana, what a little brat.

I would like to say that this lambing season has taught me about humility, patience, and made me a thousand times more wise and prepared than before. But alas, that doesn’t seem to be the case.

I just want everyone born while I sit and munch on the tenth celery stick of the day (I hate celery), fast-forward to the part where healthy little baby sheep are prancing around and jumping off their mothers’ backs, and I’m holding my new one, the whole labor and delivery already past.

But, it doesn’t work that way, and it’s not supposed to:

Farming and lambing season can be full of headaches and heartaches, but, most importantly, it can be full of lessons.

And I come back to my senses and begin to think about what lambing REALLY entails:

Blessings, new life, innocent and curious lambs that only have eyes for their mothers, and the sense of relief and responsibility that the ewes feel. Accomplished and content.

So many stages, each equally hard and beautiful.

The ewes patiently wait their five months, and when The Time comes, they take it all in stride: No fear or panic, just go off by themselves, make little nests, and bring about their greatest accomplishments.

So here I am, sitting in limbo, battling the mental dilemma of being tired and cranky one moment, and washing newborn clothes that I remember so well and tearing up the next.

I KNOW that when The Time comes I will be ready (whether I like it or not), because these things just have a way of working themselves out, don’t they?

Mothers, we are SO important and STRONG.

We doubt ourselves more often than we should. Second-guessing keeps us awake at night. So much to do in so little time! We can truly just prayerfully do the very best that we know how: spend time, instill the appropriate worldview, offer healthy meals and outlets, etc. 

I am learning that SLOWING DOWN, and giving myself more grace is just what I need during this time. What about you?

Are you in need of a good laugh? Encouragement? Or just a small reminder of those little lessons and blessings that seem to elude us during some of our hardest times?

I’m sure you have been feeling overwhelmed and unsure of a few things as of late.

We all have.

I need to be more like Big Sarah and be content with waiting for my little lamb whenever he or she may arrive.

And what a memory it will be, both for her and I.

So, dear mother, take these lessons to heart, laugh, and ponder those sweet moments that we seem to so easily forget.

I offer this encouragement to you at my (and Sarah’s) expense.

I love that we can connect, even over a simple blog post, and I really hope to get to know you better as the season continues!

Thanks for being a part of it with us!

See you around the farm!