In the five years since I became a mother, there have been just a handful of times that I have felt completely and totally overwhelmed and sure that I was in over my head!

The first time was the first night we brought Pumpkin Doodle home from the hospital. I remember sitting on the floor with her in my arms, just staring at her. I had dressed her in an adorable powder pink sleepsack for bedtime, but she was showing no signs of being ready to actually go to sleep. I was exhausted (she had been born at 11:51 pm the night before and I hadn’t slept much since then), and I remember wondering if I would ever sleep again.

The most recent time was last December, when we dealt with a debilitating stomach flu for over 3 weeks as well as the deaths of both a family friend and Sean’s grandmother. We also miscarried a baby, rushed Sweet Doodle in for STAT testing due to excessive bruising, received her ITP diagnosis 3 days before Christmas and then spent the weekend after Christmas in the hospital due to a high fever she developed.

Don’t get me wrong. There are plenty of times — probably on a daily basis — that I question my ability to handle the plethora of issues that comes from raising three children born within three years of each other (soon to be four children under five), homeschooling and being a work-at-home mom. However, there are only a handful that have actually left me teetering on the edge of a panic attack.

Unfortunately, this weekend now marks the newest occasion. As I sit here ready to deliver any day (I’m 37.5 weeks today, and I’ve had babies at 37, 38 and 39 weeks), I’m also battling persistent insomnia that’s left me so exhausted I have auditory hallucinations at night. Just as I finally doze off after fighting for sleep for 2-3 hours, I jolt awake sure that I’ve heard someone cry or call for me.

On top of that, Pumpkin Doodle apparently has the stomach flu. There’s no way to know if any of the rest of us are going to get it, and after our last battle with it, that alone is probably enough to leave me panicked and on edge!

Throw in a certain sweet three year old is battling chronic constipation that has resulted in more accidents each day than I can count (yes, we probably are going to take her to the doctor this week because it doesn’t seem to be getting better this time), and frankly, I’m tired of poop.

The thought of going into labor while battling the stomach flu — or bringing home a newborn to a house full of sickies — is not appealing in the least, but at this point 48 hours in the hospital sounds like a nice little vacation.

I know that I would be less overwhelmed if I was just getting enough sleep, but since I’m not, I’ve found myself almost chanting a simple prayer over and over again: “Oh, Lord Jesus…” Sometimes, it’s all I can muster. I am blessed beyond measure, and I wouldn’t trade any one of these little people for anything in the whole world, but it’s times like these that I know I can’t do this on my own. Only with His strength will I survive!