A friend recently asked, “Can you believe it’s been 6
months?!”
Yes. Yes, I can
believe it.
For us, it has been a long, hard 6 months. Perhaps because
it feels like we have been awake for most of it.
Having a baby is exhausting. Having a baby and a toddler and
a preschooler is, well, even after searching the thesaurus I cannot find a word
that adequately describes our level of fatigue.
Some people decide that having one child is what’s best for
their family. Other families thrive with five. I think our optimal number was
two.
Going from 0 to 1 child completely kicked my butt. Then I seemed
to get the hang of it and going from 1 to 2 wasn’t nearly as difficult as I'd anticipated.
In fact, I was doing pretty well with two. They were fed, clothed and bathed on
a regular basis. I made my own baby food, played educational games with them
and all the toys were sorted by category in their own picture-labeled bins.
And then number 3 came along. After the newness wore off and
my Vicodin prescription ran out, I looked around at the wreckage that used to be my home and thought what. have. we. done???
(Incidentally, the boys couldn't be happier about their new sister, especially the fact that Mommy found it a little difficult to supervise them every minute of the day. They celebrated by creating a giant Cheese-It slip 'n slide in the kitchen. One-year-old Henry marked the occasion by eating his sister's umbilical cord.)
Needless to say, we’ve lowered our parenting standards just
a tad.
Good-bye home-cooked, organic meals; dinner tonight is soup
from a can! Kids, meet your new babysitter: his name is Television! Who needs
to bathe every day? Not this family! Weekly baths sound good to me!
And I don’t feel guilty about it. (Ok, that’s a lie. I feel
guilty constantly. It’s what we moms do best.)
If one more elderly lady approaches me in the grocery store
and tells me to enjoy every minute of motherhood because it goes so fast, she
is going to get a swift karate chop to the throat. (Ok, I wouldn't do that, but I will call her a
meddling old hag…in my mind. So there.)
The other phrase I hear constantly whenever we go out in
public is, “Wow, you’ve sure got your hands full.” Yes, I have a baby strapped
to my chest and 2 bickering children crammed in the cart with barely enough
room to fit anything else except maybe a tube of toothpaste and an apple. I do
have my hands full, but this statement always strikes me as odd. As my most favorite comedian
Jim Gaffigan says, "That's like me going up to a guy in a wheelchair and saying, 'Looks like you're not doing much dancing lately.'"
I normally muster half a smile and respond with “Yeah.” My friend
Kaylyn suggested I come back with, “Yes, and my heart is full also.” (I tried
it once. I was met with a blank stare.)
One time all 5 of us were at Lowe’s (taking up 2 carts) and
a very refined gentleman sporting ripped jeans and a mullet felt it was his
duty to weigh in with his enlightening opinion, “Well, y’all just don’t know
when to stop now, do ya? Y’all do know
where babies come from, riiight? I can getcha a book on it!” (In this situation
Kaylyn says the appropriate response would be for me to place my arm around my
husband and remark, “Well, look at this stud! Can you blame me?”)
Yes, it has been a difficult transition and friends often ask me
how I’m doing. I'm never quite sure how to respond.
Do I go with overly optimistic? Oh, we are doing wonderful! We are just so grateful for our 3
little blessings and I am so incredibly fortunate that I get to be with them
EVERY SINGLE MINUTE OF THE DAY!!” (Maybe not. With that degree of cheeriness I might be the one getting karate chopped in the throat.)
How about slightly hysterical? I HAVEN’T SLEPT OR SHOWERED IN 3 DAYS *sob, sob* I HAVE DRIED
POOP ON MY SHIRT AND SPIT UP IN MY HAIR *sob* AND ALL I’VE EATEN TODAY ARE SOME
STALE GOLDFISH I FOUND IN MY CUPHOLDER!!
The reality is a combination of the two. I normally just tell people, “We’re doing
good.” And you know? We really are.
It’s been a learning curve and one of the most important
things I’ve learned is that I can’t do it all. And I can’t do it on my own. It
takes the proverbial village.
My dear, sweet husband, often after putting in 10+ hours at
work, comes home and dives right in to the household duties. He will do bath
time, bed time, dishes, laundry or whatever else is needed. As Jack says, “Daddy’s
a BEAST!”
Friends have delivered meals to our doorstep and family
members have pitched in every way possible and WE. ARE. SO. GRATEFUL.
And there’s Jesus. He’s helped too.
I’ve done a lot of praying over the past few months. At
first, my prayers went like this:
God, puh-leeease make
her go to sleep!
Lord, if you would just
make them all stop screaming for 5 minutes, I promise to
only let them watch Christian videos!
Really, God??
Projectile poop?!? That’s actually a thing!?!?!
Then, one morning, somewhere around month 4, I was feeling
particularly desperate. Lord, I’m not
expecting it to be easy, but is it always going to feel like so…much…work?? Am
I going to have to give myself a pep-talk to get out of bed every day for the
next 18 years??
And then it dawned on me. Instead of asking God to make my
life easier, why not ask him to help me love the life I have?
Because, after all, there is a whole lot to love.
A verse immediately came to mind, “Rejoice always, pray
without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances.” I Thess. 5:16-18
And I have been dwelling in those words.
I’m noticing the smiles instead of the stains. I’m thankful
for the falls and the fights because I have the privilege to help them back up
and point them to Him. The sleep deprivation hardly even bothers me any more
(totally kidding, it still sucks).
When our biggest problem in life is the chaos created by our 3 beautiful, healthy children, we really can't complain.
There are still (many) moments like this:
|
Can't a momma get a potty break?? |
So how have we been doing?
It’s been a long 6 months. It’s been a hard 6 months. It’s
been a fantastic 6 months.