The Days of Defeat

You lock eyes with another mom across the room at daycare, in the aisle at the grocery store, or in the lobby at gymnastics and in her eyes you see something familiar, something you know all too well. It is a look that says, ‘I’m not getting enough sleep, my parenting is currently subpar, and I don’t have a single ounce to give.’ It is a look of pure exhaustion, but deeper than that…it is a look of defeat. In her eyes you see that today, today is a day of defeat. Hell maybe it has been a week or a month of defeat.

You see the way the weight of motherhood has worn her down. You see the way her mind is wandering off to how much laundry she has to do. You see her questioning if she is using the right amount of discipline to make her littles productive members of society without killing their spirit. You see her asking if she does enough, if she is enough. You want to hug her and tell her you understand but instead you give her a warm smile. These days, the ones where you feel the inadequacy, the lack of confidence in your parenting, these are the hardest days.

As you might have guessed by now if you are titling a blog post “The Days of Defeat” you yourself are probably, in fact, experiencing a day of defeat. This parenting gig is hard and as we all know by the title of my blog site “Directions Not Included” we get very little guidance. Can we just take a minute to say what a rip off that is for those of us would like a manual? When we were pregnant with our first I had a night I wanted to skip our childbirth education class. I’ll never forget the look of distress as my husband asked, “Can we do that? They won’t send the baby home with us if we don’t pass will they?” I laughed so hard I almost peed myself (don’t judge, I was very pregnant). I remember thinking how ridiculous it was at the time but now, reflecting on that question, I think he might have been the smartest person I know. Whose idea was it to send these tiny humans home with us and out into the world without a damn bit of guidance? And people wonder why the world is going to sh*t (sorry, I’ll try to keep it PG from here out).

I mean wouldn’t it be great if there was a book specifically designed for your child telling you what they need? Instead of 4 AA batteries it would read “requires 9-10 hours of sleep for optimal performance” and the other parents reading this laugh because we would still need directions on how to get these little monsters (I mean children) to sleep for 9-10 hours (some of us would settle for a 5 hour stretch). Instead of saying press here to reset it would say “if malfunctions, please let tantrum run it’s course in quiet, safe space without disruption unless harmful to self or others”. Instead of saying screw part A into B it would say “prefers the red cup to the blue cup for apple juice but reversed if drinking milk, will only eat three strawberries sliced diagonally off the yellow plate, and cheerios from the green (not blue green, green green) bowl”. What I wouldn’t give for a book to tell me the specific, perfect way to parent my children. Now some of you would sarcastically point out that there are PLENTY of books that give parenting advice. I have definitely enjoyed some of them and taken away a lot of information from articles, books, and sites with FACUTAL (keyword) based parenting information but my personal favorite was called, “The Sh!t No One Tells You”. True story and it’s a good read. The truth is though that those articles are based on statistics, studies, etc. They aren’t based on your real life child with their own personality and opinions (so many opinions….).

I digress. The days of defeat. We aren’t just talking about a hard day or a bad day, but the days where you lay down at night feeling like you are truly failing as a parent. The days when you let yourself worry about what is going to happen to them if you don’t make the right choices in guiding them. The days where you watch the news and see stories of drug use, abuse, rape, theft, corruption and you wonder if you are truly giving them the tools they need to be successful, kind human beings. Those days weigh heavy.

This one is for all the moms out there having a day of defeat or for all the moms who can read this and know exactly what kind of day I am referencing. You aren’t alone. You are wonderful. You are strong. You are intelligent. You have all the tools you need inside you. You are enough. As cliché as it may sound, the fact that you worry about being a good mom means you already are one. Read that again: You are already a good mom.

I’m in the business of growing little hearts and little minds right now and with that some days are just days of defeat. Have a glass of wine and get back to work mama.

The Hardest Person to Love

I’ve started this blog several times over the course of the last couple weeks. Each time not being able to touch the core of the emotions I needed to touch to put (metaphoric) pen to paper. Anything I have to say sounds and feels cliché, seems like something I’ve written or read once before. Even as I read it over and over again it feels incomplete, inadequate somehow.

Sometimes on rainy days I feel a pain, an ache in my soul. It is a feeling I can’t shake. I’ve always been like that I suppose…sensitive to the little things. They can easily make or break my day. The rain makes me sad, the sun makes me happy, winter is hard on me, summer is pure freedom.

I have always spent too much time worrying about the way the world views me. I am sensitive to the things others say to me or about me. I hide the purest, most broken pieces of me for fear of how harshly others would judge them.

I spend an excessive amount of time worrying in general. About the bills, the memories my family is making, the cleanliness of my house, the grocery list, the happiness of everyone residing under my roof. My mind never stops. Most days it doesn’t even slow down or pause.

As I get older and the lens seems to get a little easier to see through, I have come to the realization that most of us are our own worst enemy. It seems to me a lot of our heartbreak, worry, and anxiety is self-inflicted. We let our pain and scars determine and dictate the present. We take on the most negative thoughts and opinions of others and turn them into our inner voice. We become our harshest critics in every way.

The hardest person to please is ourselves. The hardest person to meet expectations for is ourselves. We set the bar so high and then act as both judge and jury when we fail. The hardest person to reason with is ourselves. The hardest person to forgive is ourselves. The hardest person to love, for all of us, is ourselves.

It is so easy to get lost inside our own head space. Telling ourselves we aren’t good enough, we aren’t worthy, we don’t deserve happiness. Sometimes we tell ourselves these things so much that we convince ourselves to settle for less than a life that fulfills us. Trying for years to figure out the difference between what you truly feel and what you have convinced yourself to be true. We become guilty of letting our inner voice get the best of us. It is time to put a stop to that.

Everyday we see meme after meme telling us to be kind to others and to raise kind children but sometimes we need to take a moment and put us first. Let’s be honest, self-love is a hard thing to master but self-destruction is not an option. So today, my friend, slow down and take a long hard look in the mirror. Start giving a little grace and love to the person who needs it the most: you.

Only Human

You’ve heard people say it when they are trying to make you feel better about a bad decision – we are all human. It’s sounds cliche even as I write it. It is an excuse, a cop out; it is something we tell ourselves to make us sleep better at night but unfortunately there is some truth to it. We are all human, ONLY human, and that means ultimately we are flawed, prone to making mistakes, and hurtful to others at various points in our lives.

Even knowing we ourselves are incredibly flawed we continue to hold those around us to a higher standard and ultimately put them in line to fail. We set high expectations and when people let us down, as they often do, we hold them to a level of scrutiny that is often too intense and not the level of judgment we ourselves would want to receive.

I try to follow a sound moral compass. I work everyday to be kind and live a life my kids will be proud of someday. I want my decisions to be above reproach, especially in the eyes of my children. God knows I fail more often than I care to admit. Insert said cliche – I am human. I am ONLY human.

I strive for perfection. I am constantly trying to re-evaluate who I am and decide if it is who I want to be. While being self-aware is a good quality, it can lead to overanalyzing our own innate characteristics and doubting our self-worth. I wish I could accept who I am at face value and stop trying for the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect friend. Because the truth is if we were all perfect there would be no pain and we would lose our ability to cherish the the moments filled with love and laughter. They all go hand-in-hand and you cannot have one without the other; happiness without sadness, healing without suffering.

Even with all that work – I am not perfect. My children will someday learn that the picture they have in their head of who their parents are is not all-inclusive. That it does not account for our weak moments, our human moments, our flawed moments. They will learn at times we hurt people, hurt each other, and made decisions we could not undo.

But my hope is this…I hope they also learn that grace and forgiveness are to be given freely. That I am only as human as they are. That when the time comes, I will accept their flaws and mistakes. That my love is unconditional. I hope they will be better people for knowing I am only human and it’s okay that they are too. It is also my hope that if I cut myself and those around me a little slack for their weaknesses, they will offer the same compassion to me when and if the time comes.

Standing in the Rain

When I was a kid my grandpa would open our garage door and sit in his rocker and watch a storm roll through. I would think what a crazy thing that was, sitting and watching the rain. I personally have always had a dislike for the rain. When I was a kid it meant staying inside and pouting about the time lost outdoors. As an adult it is mostly because I hate driving in it. As I get older I don’t mind the rain so much anymore and I like to think maybe that’s what happened with my grandpa too.

Today I found myself standing in the rain, looking straight up at the sky. I didn’t run to escape it. I didn’t cover my head. I didn’t pull out an umbrella. Instead I just stood there letting it wash over my skin. It felt for a moment as if it could wash away my sins, my mistakes, and my pain. I’ve been a little lost lately but today standing in the rain it was as if it was the one thing that could purify my soul. I watched it wash over the land like it could undo everything that had been done and bring beauty back to the world.

Have you ever stopped to stand in the rain? Felt the water run down your face? Found yourself picturing one of those movie scenes where the person of your dreams rushes to you in the rain, pulls your face in their hands, and kisses you like you are the only person in the world? Ran through the mud puddles in your rain boots? Thought of the countless ways those drops are so beautiful?

It is the perfect metaphor for life. One minute we are just walking to our car and suddenly the sky opens up and the rain is crashing on our skin and we can barely figure out whether to stand still or run as fast as we can. As sure as the rain comes so does life.  Beauty, pain, love, sorrow, birth, loss…life happens. It as unavoidable as the rain. Maybe that is why the rain comes, to clean the slate, to bring us peace and let us start over with a fresh beginning. You can hide from the rain but never outrun it.

If you haven’t, I encourage you to take a minute and stand in the rain. Breathe in the smell, let it wash over you and revive you, kiss someone you love as it pours, take a minute to be alive, free, and carefree.

And if you look around, you might just find me there…standing in the rain.

Pro-athletes, Fake Eyelashes, and Wine

I sometimes imagine parenthood is a bit like being a pro-athlete (I have clearly listened to “The Champion” by Carrie and Ludacris too many times). The practice is intense, soul-crushing, and completely exhausting but if you do your job right you will see that the blood, sweat, and tears immensely pays off. You will experience many moments of pride (the playoffs), make it to graduation (the Super Bowl), and see your child get married and have children of their own and reap all those beautiful benefits (retirement). If you do your job well you may even be considered for MVP. However, I also imagine pro-athletics (much like parenthood) entails an immense amount of pressure. If you take your eyes off the ball for one minute, if you falter or crack under that weight, if you miss a pass by an inch, total chaos ensues. It is all eyes on you at all times to get this right and if you don’t the world will know. Which leads us to the current situation…for the first time since adding the fourth member to our little clan, I lost it. Not the “momentarily lost it and regained it before anyone could notice”. No that would be too easy. I mean the “all out sobbing oceans, screaming at the ceiling, and praying you regain it quickly” kind of lost it. I took my eyes off the ball and the chaos came at me like a 300 pound defensive tackle.

Let me lay it out for you…it’s Easter morning. The baby has been awake since 3 am. I finally decide to wake up my husband at 6 am. I lay down and doze off in time for the dogs to start barking and wake up the 3 year old. Time to see what the Easter bunny brought. We do all the things – the gifts, the eggs, the toys. I smile and laugh with my child doing all that a mom is suppose to do. I proceed to make sure everyone is showered and dressed, pack the bags, feed the baby, and finally decide it’s time to get myself ready (yay!). I let myself (naively) believe I could eat breakfast, shower, get dressed, put on fake eyelashes, do my makeup and hair all without a hitch (ha mama!).

Breakfast easily got overlooked, I showered but didn’t wash my hair (love me some dry shampoo) because there wasn’t enough time to dry it, and moved on to makeup and eyelashes. Now to give you the background I have been practicing these eyelashes for weeks. They are something I decided to do that make me feel better about myself, a little something for me. I was doing said eyelashes when the toddler brought me water and pancakes from his new kitchen which I graciously ate (between lashes) and set on the counter. He immediately decided watching me was more fun. He bounced on my arm, bumped me, asked a million questions about the glue and finally after four attempts I decided that was enough. At that moment my head was throbbing from lack of sleep and my patience was wondering why I can’t have five flipping minutes in the bathroom alone.  I had yet to do my hair and my husband had already put the baby in his carrier because everyone else is ready long before I am (see above where mom gets everyone ready first). I walked in the bedroom, ripped off the shirt I was already feeling bad about (insert 7 week postpartum self-esteem issues), and sat on my bed and cried like a small child coming down from a tantrum. In that moment the weight of maintaining a family, which often feels effortless to carry, was so much more than I could bear.

Now don’t feel too bad for me. My husband came in and offered me the best pep talk his male-self could come up with at the time. He told me I was beautiful, strong, and needed to focus. He surprised me when he asked, “What do you need right now, in this moment?” Of course I shot back some endless unrealistic list (sleep, food, time to myself). He said okay, stay home and do that. Not even an option. I couldn’t possibly miss Easter with my children. I was so focused on what went wrong in that moment that I missed what I truly wanted at the deepest part of my being – time with my babies. So I picked up the pieces, got dressed, and did my hair quickly. My husband turned on a song to which the words were all about being alright. My toddler pulled me to the floor, put his little hands on both sides of my face, and sang the few words he knew to me. I crumbled at the sweetness inside that child. Then I decided to throw out the eyelashes.

Currently, I am finishing up a whole bottle of wine and looking forward to sleep (I can almost taste it). But I am also reflecting on what the lesson is here…maybe it’s more self-care, maybe it’s less anxiety, maybe it’s a sleep schedule, maybe it’s more time at home cuddling with my babies and less activites, maybe it’s all of the above. I know you are waiting for me to wrap this up in a pretty bow with a wonderful life lesson but I don’t have that for you tonight friends. I am just a flawed human, sometimes a broken woman, often an irritable wife, and occasionally an impatient mother. Today I simply failed. I failed myself, my spouse, and my kiddos. Tomorrow I will do and be better. But tonight I drink, I sleep, and I pray that one of you reading this realize you are not alone.

The Other Word for Mom

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was a new mom with a tiny infant who was dependent on me for everything. Every decision I made felt like it carried the weight of the world – breastfed or formula fed, pacifier or not, cosleeping or crib sleeping. Feeling guilty at every turn, I confessed to one of the wisest women I know, my grandmother-in-law. After spilling my guts to her and explaining that I felt like every decision left me unsure and racked with guilt about whether or not I was doing the right thing for my new son she imparted the truest words I have every heard spoken about motherhood. She looked at me and with a half-grin she said, “Honey, you’ll learn the other word for mom is guilt and there is no escaping it.” Mic drop. That folks is centuries of motherhood summed up in a nice package.

Fast forward to present day – the next chapter has begun. We are neck deep in the trenches of having two small children in our house. The transition stage is both unbelievably tough and endlessly beautiful. I am learning to let go of a few things: the concept of a clean house, the idea that I am super mom (turns out I am not as bad ass as I have led myself to believe), and the notion that this time I will feel no mom guilt. I had myself convinced the second time around I would not doubt myself or my decisions for one second (insert laugh here).

Have you ever seen the commercial where the mom has her first child and makes everyone use hand sanitizer before they touch the baby and washes the pacifier if it touches the floor? Then she has her second and hands them over to a dirty mechanic without batting an eyelash? That is my life and it is also my present state of mom guilt.

After a deep internal struggle I have decided not to breastfeed my second son. In walks the gut-wrenching, heartfelt guilt that she said was unavoidable. Don’t get me wrong, I believe formula feeding and breastfeeding are equally good choices and every mom does what works for her. However, for me the idea that I cannot make that same commitment this time (mostly because logistically it is incredibly hard with a three-year-old) leaves me thinking there is no doubt my youngest will suffer from second child syndrome and need years of intense therapy because his mom had more time, energy, and milk to give his brother. Sigh.

With my first son it was like pulling teeth to get me to leave him. He was two and a half before he did his first overnight. Hello second child and “significantly more wisdom”. Two weeks in and I leave him for dinner and some bar hopping for dad’s birthday. Now if I am entirely honest, I have most definitely passed judgement on a new mom for leaving her baby so young but that was before I knew what I know now. Being a mom is utterly exhausting and in the past three years I have discovered that I am a better mom after I have had time for myself. Even knowing that, even having learned how much I NEED that time, it did not stop the guilt from hitting me like a ton of bricks before I left the house and the next morning as I watched my tiny new baby sleep. Filled with questions about how I could possibly stand to be separated from him when I could not even fathom it with his brother left me exhausted and reflecting on that conversation from all those years ago.

I am definitely not the same mom I was the first time around. Whether that is good, bad, or equal only time will tell. The reality is this though – I may have not learned how to escape the guilt, but I have learned how to live with it. At the end of each day I try to reflect on the decisions I made and sometimes I like them and others I don’t. There is a chance we will screw them up (although I hope not). The one thing I am confident of though is that we have an immense amount of love to give our children and I think that is enough to combat the guilt. In my opinion, the other word for being a mom is grace. Guilt is just a word that means you are doing it right.

Coming to an End

I can feel it in my bones. My time as a mother to one is slowly dwindling. Soon I will be torn between two sets of little hearts and hands that need their mama.

I will feel strained and pulled in ways I can’t imagine and I am fairly certain I will spend all my time thinking there is not enough of me to go around. I will simultaneously love and cuss most days. But even all that is not what has my stomach in knots tonight. In the blink of an eye the three years that felt like forever but now seem so short will be the only years I was a mother to just one sweet little boy. All of those sacred moments are almost over. That time and chapter is coming to an end.

It was all too easy to get use to our little life together. I have felt the calm and simplicity of rocking you to sleep when it feels as though the rest of the world is silent, I have soaked in the peace and quiet of the moments shared with just the two of us, I have laid with you for more naps than I can count and found myself staring at your soft face. I learned how to be a mom holding your hand. And now I find myself wondering if you will even remember a time before your brother existed, but a piece of me hopes you do. That you will carry a sliver of the memories I will forever cherish.

I have asked myself a million times if I could love anyone else as much as I love you (I am told most moms go through that) but once again you have been the one to show me that it is not only possible, but that I already do. I am the parent, but your big heart is always leading the way for both of us. Since finding out you would be a big brother you have done nothing but play the part beautifully. You have offered to share toys, you have hugged and kissed my belly, you have shown excitement and anticipation about your brother’s arrival. You have said his name with pride and you have boasted about how you will be the “big brother”. Having seen that I have tried to take my cues from you, my sweet boy, and remind myself that although there is something to be said for what is coming to an end, what this baby will add to our lives will more than replace it tenfold. The memories, the bond, and the years that will follow will be nothing short of miraculous. You will have a forever best friend, a best man beside you on your wedding day, and an unconditional love. I will get the honor of playing a referee, of watching my sweet boys challenge and grow each other, and of feeling double the pride in my heart as the two of you share your journey. I will get the peace of knowing that neither of you will ever be alone in this world.

So here is to toasting a chapter that is bittersweetly coming to an end and honoring the beautiful new beginning waiting for us.

 

Boy, oh boy!

“It’s a boy,” said the ultrasound tech. I had already noticed that small object positioned in just the right spot on the ultrasound screen and had silently concluded this in my head but I was waiting to hear her say the words. I smiled and my husband, in true form, immediately said, “Think of all the money we are going to save.” Leave it to this man I love to bring both comical and logical humor into this moment.

I feel guilty now reflecting on this because for just a moment after she uttered those words, I felt a twinge of disappointment. Now before you start judging, I know the old cliché about just taking happy and healthy and that is all I want for my son, just like any mom. I love and will always love my boys very much. However, if I get really honest with myself, a small piece of me had to let go of a few dreams I had in my head at that moment.

Braids and tutus are not in the cards for me. I will not have a young version of myself to take shopping who can keep me up on the latest fashions. I will never get to experience the turmoil and growth that is having a teenage daughter. There will be no tear wiping when her heart gets broken and confiding in her the cold hard truth – that boys are idiots. The friendship that comes after those teenage years pass will not happen. I will not get to help my daughter plan her wedding, pick out a dress, and watch her daddy walk her down the aisle. I will not get to hold her hand and walk beside her on the journey that is motherhood. There will be no phone calls that her kids have lost their minds and that I must come immediately. The simple fact of the matter is, I will not be a girl mom and I believe it’s okay to mourn that for a minute.

I have now reached a place of acceptance. I will not be a girl mom, but I will be a kick butt boy mom. I will play tractors and trucks if that’s what they want. I will love every minute of wild and sticky they throw my way. I will learn what every part of an engine does (don’t hold me to that). I will wash a lot of sweaty, dirty clothes. I will spend my afternoons at the baseball field sporting the obligatory mascot t-shirt. I will swell with pride at any baseball game, wrestling match, soccer tournament, or football game. I will be their biggest fan. I will cuss at how much food it takes to feed two growing boys and my adult husband. I will cringe when they fight over who has to have me on their team for tackle football. I will cry when they take a wife and pray that she will understand what it means to me to “give them away”. I will hope to gain the daughters I never had. I will pick out tuxes, teach them how to buy a corsoche, and to open the door for their date. I will go to deer camp if necessary. I will try not only to understand fantasy football, but enjoy it. I will hop on a four-wheeler and spend the afternoon mudding. I will make sure they know what it means to be a gentleman. I will watch them become the fathers I always hoped they would be. I will call them on Sunday’s just to make sure they are doing okay. I will never stop trying to find interest in their interests. I will soak up every minute of the way boys love their moms with an unmatched ferocity and I will love it.

And just as I would have with my daughter – I will make them watch Gilmore Girls and read “Anne of Green Gables” and show them what strong female role models look like. I will do everything in my power to raise these little boys into strong, honest, hardworking men. I want them to know when to stand tall but not be afraid to cry when the moment warrants it. I will teach them kindness and compassion, responsibility and loyalty. They will know what it means to show their emotions and support their future partners and families. I want nothing more than for them to love and be loved.

The truth is what I want for them really isn’t all that different from what I would have wanted for a daughter. The clothes just aren’t quite as cute.

My Dearest Husband

My dearest husband,

Sometimes it is hard to find the right words. Sometimes I am not sure you will understand the vast range of emotions I can roll through in a five minute timespan. The mix of like and dislike, complete admiration and total disdain, the peaceful bliss and the total insanity that is marriage sometimes leave me at a loss for the right words or emotion.

Often I get so lost in the everyday to-do list that I forget to notice our marriage. I am wrapped in a mountain of activities, laundry, bills, jobs, baths, and bedtimes. I focus in so tightly on those things that our marriage takes a backseat to life. My anxiety, stress, and frustration lands on your shoulders – partly because you are there everyday and largely because you are, and always have been, my safe place. I know that you will carry the weight I throw at you and still love me even after the storm rages. I set unrealistic expectations and ask you to meet them because I know you are the one person in the world who will move mountains trying to obtain them for our family. You never fail (even on a bad day) to look at me like I am the strongest, most beautiful woman you have ever seen. I never say thank you for that…Thank you.

The truth is most of the time there is really no way you could have won, nothing you could have said, and nothing you could have done differently that would have been right. The issue wasn’t really about you, it was about me and the weight that sometimes overwhelms me. It’s the cold, hard reality and it isn’t fair.

Marriage has a way of breaking you down and building you up all in one breath. It will completely crush your heart if you let it, and oh boy have we come close a few times. I am sure of a few things though.

I am sure of our survival rate so far. We have survived young marriage. We have survived living off of ramen noodles and spaghetti o’s. We have survived minimum wage jobs and long nights of college classes. We have survived opposite shifts that left us like ships passing in the night. We have survived buying our first home. We have survived losses that I can’t put into words. Most notably, we have survived entering parenthood together. We have survived the best and worst days of our lives with each other as the co-pilot.

I am sure that you make me laugh. Not just a one of the small, giggly laughs, but a full belly laugh until you cry or pee your pants kind. No one else has ever pulled that out of me. I am sure that your sense of humor was made to pair with mine and that my heart is the lightest in a moment when we share the most ridiculous inside joke that no one else would find even slightly funny.

I am sure that you are the dad I had always imagined for my children. There is no one I would rather them learn from. I know without a doubt that if our boys become even half the husband you are that their partners will be very lucky. I am so proud of the father I have watched you become and I’m sorry it gets lost in my complaints about you refusing to clip nails or clean ears.

I am sure that we love each other even at our worst. You have seen me ugly cry with snot all over my face and smeared makeup but you still lean in for a snotty kiss. I have seen you lose your calm, passive demeanor you always carry but  have still reached for your hand in that moment.

I am sure that there is no one I would rather eat ramen noodles with, scream at while birthing a child, or kick in the middle of the night to get out of bed. I am sure that everyday I love you more for dealing with the craziness of life, for being the family man you are, and for being the kind of man I always needed. I know without a doubt you are everything I could have hoped for and so much more. I am certain that on my worst days you are my saving grace. I am sure that you often treat me like I am the one that holds our family together and keeps the wheels turning, but I also know as humble as you are you are totally oblivious to the fact that you hold me together.

I don’t say it enough, but I am so proud of the man, husband, and father you are. I am your biggest fan and always will be. I am sorry it gets lost in the everyday. I promise someday it will get easier. In the meantime, I will try a little harder to remind you of the good I see and ignore those dirty dishes in the sink.

Love always,

Your loving wife

 

Pregnancy Number Dos

I should start by being upfront about the fact that I HATE being pregnant. I truly believe that those women who tell you they could stay pregnant forever have some sort of mental disorder. If I could get the baby without the 9 month waiting period (my husband has reminded me several times that this is called adoption or surrogacy) – sign me up!  It is not that I am ungrateful for the chance to grow life because I feel blessed everyday to take the journey to motherhood that many are not able to but that doesn’t mean I have to love the experience of getting that beautiful life into this world.

There are a lot of things they don’t warn you about with the second pregnancy and this is in no way a comprehensive list…

Exhaustion: Sure, you were tired the first time around. But if you thought you were exhausted and impatient the first time try doing it while chasing after a toddler. Dragging them out the house screaming feels like a whole new level of torture when you are growing a life inside your womb. Wiping their butt for the tenth time in an hour when you feel like your back cannot stand for you to bend down one more time will make you want to scream at your child for pooping (your crazy mom is showing). It will make the first pregnancy look like a walk in the park.

Healthy Living: So you tracked the amount of protein you ate, made sure that you drank the recommended amount of water, and regularly went to the chiropractor the first time around…all I have to say here is HA! Forget regularly remembering to take the prenatal vitamins – you are too distracted in the morning shuffling a toddler out the door and at night your head hits the pillow and you forget your own name. Better set that phone alarm and get a good app to help you keep up.

Classes: This time around if someone asks me about child birth classes or a birth plan I have to look at them with a blank stare as if I don’t know what those words mean and hope that they do not press the issue. There is no pregnancy yoga the second time around either (even though your back could use it). Classes are for beginner schmucks anyway right? *Grits teeth*

Guilt: They also don’t mention the immense amount of guilt. One minute you are holding your sweet toddler and suddenly you are wondering if you have destroyed their life by having another baby. Will they feel forgotten or left out? What could you do to combat that? Will they hate the baby? Will this traumatize them for life and lead to so many unforeseen issues that they will forever blame on your having a second child? And the list goes on…

Bladder Control: Since I know you all want to know about bladder control – forget it, it is nonexistent. For those of you who are oblivious, you pee ALOT when you are pregnant the first time around. Then, after pushing something the size of a watermelon out, you pee every time you sneeze, jump on a trampoline, or if the weather man calls for a slight chance of rain. But if you think that is bad just wait until the second time around when you have to pee every 30 minutes even though you are only half-way through your pregnancy because this time your precious peanut has their butt shoved against your bladder which you no longer control because of the aforementioned watermelon.

The Fear: Everyone says the second child gets the shaft so you would think your fear is nonexistent because you don’t have time for it, but it is there and very overwhelming on an already hormonal, emotional pregnant woman. You fear for their health, you fear that you will screw them up because you can’t possibly be a great parent to two kids at once (I am barely surviving one!), you fear that you will not love them as much as your first, you will lay awake at night with all the fears inside your head…just like the first time around. But here is the kicker – that is what means you have what it takes. You definitely have your work cut out for you, but that fear will drive you to be the best parent you can (even in the moments where your partner is unavailable and you are outnumbered).

While I am overwhelmed with love for this babe and can’t wait to see his sweet face, I wish I could just skip this part and meet the next love of my life. For now I will just hunker down with my snacks and try to curve the level of crankiness I feel for the sake of my angelic husband who has only threatened to move me in with his grandma once so far (in my defense, the air conditioner went out on a 95 degree day and that would have made me cranky without the extra furnace who has taken up residence in my womb).

Not today, but someday, when my two boys are playing chase through the house after I have told them not to run at least twenty times, my heart will soar at the sound of their laughter and the knowledge that they will always have each other and I will know that it is all worth it.