i love reading segullah’s blog: if you haven’t ever caught an entry, try it. i always find myself nodding my head and feeling acknowledged somehow. anyway… after my terrible horrible no good very bad day [and having my husband tell me that i'm not allowed to have any more children because it's too hard], i stumbled on this comment over at segullah from someone named martha.

I am still very much in the youth of parenthood, with my four children, five and under. I am often drowning in the weight of demand for physical stamina and god-like patience. But I cling to words such Pres. Monson’s and my parent’s who remind me that these moments will slip through my fingers and break my heart. Such counsel often reminds me to slow down, repent, and open my heart wider.

I was never told how incredibly important parenthood would be to my development. The constant blows that, for moments, swallow me up, somehow create a greater depth of mercy, and I am so grateful for this pain. (I’ll let you know if I can still say this in the years to come).

i often rail at the pain of childrearing: the real physical, emotional pain. but do i ever thank the pain for being? for teaching me? for prying open my own ability to empathize, to find mercy? how has the cracked nipple, the sleepless nights, the ripping open of my body (and my heart) changed me? and while some might find me sort of intolerable in this between state where i cannot get my dishes clean or two kids in the car in under an hour, will i ultimately be someone better because of it?

i imagine the answer must be yes or motherhood wouldn’t make any sense.