I was just standing in a doorway, using the angle of it to rub my aching back. The middle of it is going numb. I figure that’s not such a good thing. I’ve noticed that all the lifting, bending and carrying of these two sweet and hefty boys doesn’t bode well for my already questionable posture. I try to stand up straight and can actually hear every muscle in my back screaming, “Yeah right! We’re stuck in a hunched over curve, unable to loosen and stretch! Leave us alone to atrophy here!”
I just got an email from you dear friend, Tiff. You implored, “please tell me this gets easier,” going on to say that Chloe won’t listen and Sam can’t nap because of sharing a room with this somewhat disruptive sibling. I wanted to write back and say that it does get easier. But I had a second thought because I didn’t want to lie. In some ways it really does get easier. The adjustment to a new sibling calms down, and as our kids continue to become more independent, some things really do get easier. But as with all other aspects of parenting, there is always some new challenge, hiding around the corner, waiting to make it’s grand entrance.
For instance, today as I stood rubbing my back, I’m sure there was one of those challenges I’m completely unaware of, lurking just behind me, getting ready to tap me on the shoulder and then punch me in the face. “HA,” this new challenge will say, as I raise my hands to defend another blow, “and you thought you were getting this down!” And here is when I will have two choices. Fight or flight you say? Well yes, basically. I can fall to the ground in a puddle and loath myself for not being prepared. In a sense I guess that would be “flight,” and some days it’s what I do best. If I chose this option, I would be giving in to that all too familiar voice that tells me the hardships of parenting make it too much for the likes of me. The one that tells me I’m not a very good mom. The one that says my faults are destroying the once wonderful personalities of the little people we conceived. The one that says we had them simply so I could torture them with my mistakes. You know the one. Silly, silly voice…
OR, I could try (and it’s hard) to remember that no one does this perfectly, absolutely no one. I can remember that I was given a lot of gifts that bode well for my children. I can believe my friends when they say I’m a good mom and I know what I’m doing. And then I can “fight” the next challenge, resting in the acceptance that there will always be more to come, but we’re doing just fine. If I do this, it usually helps me to actually do this job quite well. Even though it’s really stinkin‘ hard a lot of the time.
I’ve been realizing that it’s hard to stay positive and keep things in perspective for many reasons, but one HUGE one is fatigue. We could have the best attitudes, self confidence and drive and STILL come up short because of what being tired does to a person. So we do need to be kind to ourselves and forgive ourselves when we are just too wiped out to be perfect moms. I suppose our exhaustion plays an important role in the necessary development of individuality in our kids. Just think, if we could attain the utopia and become the flawless mothers we strive for, our kids would never want to leave! Ever! So thank God we can hardly stand up, and we’re so damn cranky, one day our kids will run for the hills and we’ll finally catch a break!
Joking aside, our imperfection is a healthy thing for our kids to see and learn from. We make mistakes, but we can apologize for them if we need to and move on, still maintaining a happiness and positivity that we can hope and believe our children will one day emulate.
So to finally answer the question, YES, it does get easier. Until the next challenge.
Hang in there, friend! Just call me, we can vent about dirty dishes, piles of laundry, sleepless nights and tantrum toddlers. We can admit that we don’t know what in the world we’re doing half the time, give and take advice, and crack jokes that only another mother could understand. We can hear the need for encouragement in one another’s sighs and mail off some laffy taffy for good cheer. We can do all of this because we know so intimately the beauty of this baby and toddler madness. It is ours to grow in as we witness our babies growing. This is a precious time. We know that when we look at those little cherub faces, crinkled and crying or not. And we know this because we have each other to share it with, even over all the miles. I’m thankful for you and I miss you.
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