I'm gaining a new found respect this week for single mothers. As my husband is off at a B&B in Georgia at some computer-nerd class, I am alone with my three kids under three--my youngest only 7 weeks old and still waking me in the middle of the night with her incessant need for calories.
I think so far the worst part is that there's no one to snuggle up to at the end of the day, no one to tell me I'm doing a good job; or that even when I feel like merely a disgruntled, un-showered mommy, someone still finds me sexy.
Come back to me, Husband! Parenthood is not meant to be a one-man(woman) show!
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Gratefulness
In October of last year we discovered through ultrasound that we would have a third girl. My heart sank. I didn't want another girl, I wanted a boy. I went out to the car and cried. I didn't want to seem ungrateful in front of the technician who was telling us we had a healthy growing child.
I vacillated between guilt for being so selfish, and anger that God would not give me the boy I had prayed for before we even conceived. For goodness sake, we didn't even INTEND to conceive this child... therefore, I knew this child would be special, and had to be a boy.
For months after that ultrasound, I denied the "three lines" theory, and told myself time and again that I was actually having a boy. The tech must be wrong. I just "knew." I didn't buy many girlie things, I anticipated (vain faith?) that I would actually get what I had wanted all along.
And then March 19th came, and I delivered our baby girl in the hospital observation room while screaming at the intensity with which my body was doing this miraculous feat, and I knew it was a girl. And they put her on my chest, and I saw her, and I knew that she had been the one I'd prayed for all along.
The next morning in my hospital bed, staring at the tiny blond person that my body had made in 9 months time, I cried. I could hardly believe that I had hoped for another child. This was the special girl that God knew I needed. She was perfect, and beautiful, and... then the nurse walked in to me in tears staring at my newborn. She must have told the midwife I was in there crying, someone looked up my chart, and they were soon offering me the Zoloft I had forgotten at home. They reassured me everything would be alright.
But I already knew, everything was more than alright. It was exactly as it should be.
I vacillated between guilt for being so selfish, and anger that God would not give me the boy I had prayed for before we even conceived. For goodness sake, we didn't even INTEND to conceive this child... therefore, I knew this child would be special, and had to be a boy.
For months after that ultrasound, I denied the "three lines" theory, and told myself time and again that I was actually having a boy. The tech must be wrong. I just "knew." I didn't buy many girlie things, I anticipated (vain faith?) that I would actually get what I had wanted all along.
And then March 19th came, and I delivered our baby girl in the hospital observation room while screaming at the intensity with which my body was doing this miraculous feat, and I knew it was a girl. And they put her on my chest, and I saw her, and I knew that she had been the one I'd prayed for all along.
The next morning in my hospital bed, staring at the tiny blond person that my body had made in 9 months time, I cried. I could hardly believe that I had hoped for another child. This was the special girl that God knew I needed. She was perfect, and beautiful, and... then the nurse walked in to me in tears staring at my newborn. She must have told the midwife I was in there crying, someone looked up my chart, and they were soon offering me the Zoloft I had forgotten at home. They reassured me everything would be alright.
But I already knew, everything was more than alright. It was exactly as it should be.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Guilt
I remember my older sister talking a lot about being a mother before I became one. One frequent theme in these conversations centered around guilt. As a mom, she felt guilt for spending time with one child as opposed to another.
Me, I feel guilt over my morning latte.
Yes, that's right, almost 8 months pregnant and I drink regular espresso on a regular basis. Here's the thing: I have two very energetic kids 2 and under who wake me up before my body really has had it's fair share of sleep (I'm sure no body else knows what I'm talking about). But after my coffee, I feel like I can make it through this day. In fact, I feel like I can be super-mom. I learned the technique of coffee-drinking in college, and so that's my go-to move. It improved my essays, and now it improves my mothering.
In my first pregnancy (heck, before we even conceived), I gave up my delicious addiction because it was "wrong" and "unhealthy" to drink coffee when you're pregnant. My daughter is brilliant.
In my second pregnancy, I allowed myself the 8 oz of brew per day, no more. Again, my second daughter astounds me.
In this pregnancy, I have a latte, maybe a couple cups of coffee, whatever. I only drink it in the morning, but I drink however much I feel I need. I don't monitor it very much at all. A friend encouraged me to switch to organic coffee, so I did that. Otherwise, it's full-caffinated all the way.
But I still feel guilty. Will this be the time coffee "does" something to my growing child? Will he/she be inferior to his/her sisters? Will he/she have all the proper parts? It doesn't really help when your nurse practitioner asks you at every appointment how you're doing with the coffee: "Have you switched to decaf?" "You know, coffee has been linked to preterm labor."
I don't know if my latte makes me a bad mother. I know in some ways, it makes me a better one. But no matter what, I have guilt. If it wasn't the coffee, it would probably be something else. There's always something to beat yourself up over. I guess I'm just choosing to let this one go, give myself a break, and tell myself that at least I don't drink or smoke.
Me, I feel guilt over my morning latte.
Yes, that's right, almost 8 months pregnant and I drink regular espresso on a regular basis. Here's the thing: I have two very energetic kids 2 and under who wake me up before my body really has had it's fair share of sleep (I'm sure no body else knows what I'm talking about). But after my coffee, I feel like I can make it through this day. In fact, I feel like I can be super-mom. I learned the technique of coffee-drinking in college, and so that's my go-to move. It improved my essays, and now it improves my mothering.
In my first pregnancy (heck, before we even conceived), I gave up my delicious addiction because it was "wrong" and "unhealthy" to drink coffee when you're pregnant. My daughter is brilliant.
In my second pregnancy, I allowed myself the 8 oz of brew per day, no more. Again, my second daughter astounds me.
In this pregnancy, I have a latte, maybe a couple cups of coffee, whatever. I only drink it in the morning, but I drink however much I feel I need. I don't monitor it very much at all. A friend encouraged me to switch to organic coffee, so I did that. Otherwise, it's full-caffinated all the way.
But I still feel guilty. Will this be the time coffee "does" something to my growing child? Will he/she be inferior to his/her sisters? Will he/she have all the proper parts? It doesn't really help when your nurse practitioner asks you at every appointment how you're doing with the coffee: "Have you switched to decaf?" "You know, coffee has been linked to preterm labor."
I don't know if my latte makes me a bad mother. I know in some ways, it makes me a better one. But no matter what, I have guilt. If it wasn't the coffee, it would probably be something else. There's always something to beat yourself up over. I guess I'm just choosing to let this one go, give myself a break, and tell myself that at least I don't drink or smoke.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Day Off?...What's That?
When I was single and without children, life was lonely. I remember being lonely when I'd go to bed alone. I remember coming home to my roommates who loved me, but had their own lives and activities, and I longed to have a family of my own.
Now that I have a family, I still have lonely days, but I'm never alone. I love my family and wouldn't trade any of them for ANYTHING. However, there are no days off in motherhood. There is no "weekend" of sleeping in and leisurely breakfast. There is no after-work shopping or pedicures. These days, I'm doing good if I shower every day. My hair is frazzled, much like my spirit, and my poor pregnant feet could use a couple of uninterrupted hours of soaking.
But I get up every morning, and I am a mother. No matter how I feel, or what I'd "rather" be doing, this is my mission: to love my girls. How many children are out there without a mother, or without a mother who cares, or without a home to live in at all? Too many to count. So no matter how frazzled I look or feel, I will be their mommy.
And then I'll pray to God that someone will take them for a day so I can at least get a pedicure.
Now that I have a family, I still have lonely days, but I'm never alone. I love my family and wouldn't trade any of them for ANYTHING. However, there are no days off in motherhood. There is no "weekend" of sleeping in and leisurely breakfast. There is no after-work shopping or pedicures. These days, I'm doing good if I shower every day. My hair is frazzled, much like my spirit, and my poor pregnant feet could use a couple of uninterrupted hours of soaking.
But I get up every morning, and I am a mother. No matter how I feel, or what I'd "rather" be doing, this is my mission: to love my girls. How many children are out there without a mother, or without a mother who cares, or without a home to live in at all? Too many to count. So no matter how frazzled I look or feel, I will be their mommy.
And then I'll pray to God that someone will take them for a day so I can at least get a pedicure.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Battling the Cliché
I am a unique and original woman. I am imperfect, but I do my best (God, help me) to be a loving mother, wife and friend.
This is my mantra. As much as I feel like a cliché when I stand in line with my two baby girls to pick up my prescription for my antidepressant. Or when I loose my cool and use an ugly tone of voice with my 2-year-old. Or when I spend 10 minutes cleaning up a puddle of pee. Or when I get banana in my hair because my 1-year-old had it smashed between her chubby pink fingers. I am not a cliché.
I remind myself that I am only one woman, doing the work of many. I am 7 1/2 months pregnant and I still expect so much from myself: I cloth diaper, keep our home sanitary (clean, not so much these days...), do the shopping, change the diapers, read stories, give baths, cuddle and tickle and give hugs. I do what I do because I choose it. I choose every day to be my daughters' mother. I choose every day to be my husband's wife. I do this because it brings me joy. Of course some days I'd much rather read a good book on the beach all by myself. No one asking for juice, no whining, no crying, no dirty diapers.
But I know that even a good book will end, and leave me alone on that beach, and the silence that only hours before brought serenity, would only sound like the roar of emptiness.
I am blessed. I usually dislike the term "blessed"--only because it suggests that in hard times or difficult circumstances we are "cursed." But, in the good and the bad, I am blessed. And when I feel like someone looking in on my life might see a cliché, I remind myself of who I am. I am a unique and original woman. I am imperfect, but I have 2 (almost 3) beautiful daughters, a husband who thinks I'm smart AND sexy, and I live a life of purpose.
And that's all I need to be today.
This is my mantra. As much as I feel like a cliché when I stand in line with my two baby girls to pick up my prescription for my antidepressant. Or when I loose my cool and use an ugly tone of voice with my 2-year-old. Or when I spend 10 minutes cleaning up a puddle of pee. Or when I get banana in my hair because my 1-year-old had it smashed between her chubby pink fingers. I am not a cliché.
I remind myself that I am only one woman, doing the work of many. I am 7 1/2 months pregnant and I still expect so much from myself: I cloth diaper, keep our home sanitary (clean, not so much these days...), do the shopping, change the diapers, read stories, give baths, cuddle and tickle and give hugs. I do what I do because I choose it. I choose every day to be my daughters' mother. I choose every day to be my husband's wife. I do this because it brings me joy. Of course some days I'd much rather read a good book on the beach all by myself. No one asking for juice, no whining, no crying, no dirty diapers.
But I know that even a good book will end, and leave me alone on that beach, and the silence that only hours before brought serenity, would only sound like the roar of emptiness.
I am blessed. I usually dislike the term "blessed"--only because it suggests that in hard times or difficult circumstances we are "cursed." But, in the good and the bad, I am blessed. And when I feel like someone looking in on my life might see a cliché, I remind myself of who I am. I am a unique and original woman. I am imperfect, but I have 2 (almost 3) beautiful daughters, a husband who thinks I'm smart AND sexy, and I live a life of purpose.
And that's all I need to be today.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Taking Inventory
So what are the things that are really hindering me from living a full life?
I could easily tick of a list of "things" that I can't seem to escape: depression, fatigue (what mother isn't tired?), guilt. These are perhaps general to a lot of women. However, my depression stems from my desire to do things "right" and to take care of everything. Which means that on a daily basis I am faced with failure. Or, what I deem to be failure. I can't always do everything, nor can I do it all the "right" way (whatever that means).
But, (and here's the somewhat insane part) if I let go of my need to control and take care of all the problems in my (and others) lives, who will do it? Will others be taken care of? Will things get done? Will my own needs be met? Will the world implode and all fall into chaos?
But if I don't choose to let go of the false need to always take matters into my own hands, there is no room for God in my life (primarily), nor is there room for my husband. I disallow those who desire to meet my needs to have any function in my life. This not only makes me feel lonely, but overwhelmed by all that I must "do." It also makes others who long to love me feel rejected and unimportant to me.
I desire nothing more than to feel close and connected to my family, especially my husband. Of course, there are issues in his life that contribute to feeling "far away" from each other. But my job is to find my own contributing behavior in whatever cycle we're in. Or, whatever cycle I am in. And so I continue to examine myself, determine what matters and what doesn't, and let some things go... into someone else's hands. And will things get done? Maybe. Maybe not. But will the world dissolve into nothingness if they don't? No. I should say it again for my own sake: no, it will not.
In fact, without the world on my shoulders, I may even live a happier and more fulfilled life. Imagine that.
I could easily tick of a list of "things" that I can't seem to escape: depression, fatigue (what mother isn't tired?), guilt. These are perhaps general to a lot of women. However, my depression stems from my desire to do things "right" and to take care of everything. Which means that on a daily basis I am faced with failure. Or, what I deem to be failure. I can't always do everything, nor can I do it all the "right" way (whatever that means).
But, (and here's the somewhat insane part) if I let go of my need to control and take care of all the problems in my (and others) lives, who will do it? Will others be taken care of? Will things get done? Will my own needs be met? Will the world implode and all fall into chaos?
But if I don't choose to let go of the false need to always take matters into my own hands, there is no room for God in my life (primarily), nor is there room for my husband. I disallow those who desire to meet my needs to have any function in my life. This not only makes me feel lonely, but overwhelmed by all that I must "do." It also makes others who long to love me feel rejected and unimportant to me.
I desire nothing more than to feel close and connected to my family, especially my husband. Of course, there are issues in his life that contribute to feeling "far away" from each other. But my job is to find my own contributing behavior in whatever cycle we're in. Or, whatever cycle I am in. And so I continue to examine myself, determine what matters and what doesn't, and let some things go... into someone else's hands. And will things get done? Maybe. Maybe not. But will the world dissolve into nothingness if they don't? No. I should say it again for my own sake: no, it will not.
In fact, without the world on my shoulders, I may even live a happier and more fulfilled life. Imagine that.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Tattoo Removal?
I recently had to let something go. Well, I guess I didn't HAVE to. No one forced me. I chose to do it. Something that has been dear to me, even though most of the time I had forgotten why it was so very important.
But what was important was the symbol of this particular item. It symbolized, to me and to others, that my past was perhaps more important than my present. And it's certainly scary to let go of what you've come to depend upon to always be there.
I guess it would be like taking away my daughter's "blankie." She can't sleep without her soft, often dirty, pink blanket. Fortunately, no one took anything away from me. And I will probably never force my daughter to give up her blanket. She'll have to decide when she's ready to grow up and move on.
I think I'm ready to grow up and move on. I've come to terms with my fears, and I've realized that I'm not losing anything that is important to me. And I'm actually gaining so much by simply letting go of that fear. I'm gaining back (perhaps for the first time?) my husband's trust. I'm gaining back a love and respect for myself that is not dependent upon the loss of any material item.
In spite of my title, this isn't tattoo removal. I can't erase the marks I have. But I can choose to stop looking at them as "who I am." My marks don't define me. I am way more complex. Just ask my husband.
But what was important was the symbol of this particular item. It symbolized, to me and to others, that my past was perhaps more important than my present. And it's certainly scary to let go of what you've come to depend upon to always be there.
I guess it would be like taking away my daughter's "blankie." She can't sleep without her soft, often dirty, pink blanket. Fortunately, no one took anything away from me. And I will probably never force my daughter to give up her blanket. She'll have to decide when she's ready to grow up and move on.
I think I'm ready to grow up and move on. I've come to terms with my fears, and I've realized that I'm not losing anything that is important to me. And I'm actually gaining so much by simply letting go of that fear. I'm gaining back (perhaps for the first time?) my husband's trust. I'm gaining back a love and respect for myself that is not dependent upon the loss of any material item.
In spite of my title, this isn't tattoo removal. I can't erase the marks I have. But I can choose to stop looking at them as "who I am." My marks don't define me. I am way more complex. Just ask my husband.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)