It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way…
Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
I wonder if Charles Dickens had any idea these words would be considered an excellent synopsis for describing the condition, “motherhood”. Literally - I have experienced The. Best. Times. I have experienced The. Worst. Times… Light and Dark… Hope and despair.
Mercy… holding my newborn babies for the first time - kissing their pink lips and counting all ten toes… That was when Heaven was at the edge of my lips… it was at the tips of my fingers. And within mere days I would “go direct the other way” as sleep deprivation took over. Nothing prepares one for this. Nothing. It is rite of passage… a very dark passage.
Lately, my heart has been in a near-constant state of opposition. There are times I look at my children and swoon so deeply over the blessing I have been given in them. I am so swoon-stricken that I think actual pink puffy hearts blow from my every breath. My son is compassionate and incredibly helpful. His heart is everything I could have desired for a young man… expressive, strong, confident, gentle, AND he likes things tidy! My middle daughter is creative and strong. She is daring, expressive, and resourceful. I am envious of her creative vision and her penchant for daring. My youngest is happy, confident, decisive and when I watch her play “pretend” I find I mindlessly slip into her world of princesses and music. I stand silently at the edge of the room to listen in on her world of delight.
My heart feels like it will explode with joy when the three of them come together and love each other with all their goodness. Seeing my son care for his sisters… listening to the three work together to make decisions… watching them working on solutions to play in a way that fits each of their stages. Two nights ago I checked on the girls in bed and they were snuggled together while the the oldest read the youngest a book. **gush**
But, you know what? Within minutes - Hell itself can start rumbling from the bowels of the earth. The screaming. The physical assaults. The manipulation of reality presented before The Mother. The bickering. The bickering. The bickering. The tattling. The subsequent pain in my chest because I can’t possibly moderate another “disagreement”. Good golly - I didn’t get a degree in diplomacy! My advice to parents-to-be: get a degree in diplomacy… is there a degree for “Debate Moderator”? That’d be a good one too.
And here I sit. In the span of time it has taken to write this post I have watched my son slice and toast English muffins for his younger sister. I have listened to the youngest scream like a banshee (not exaggerating - I’ll record it sometime - it’s nearly unbelievable the pitch she reaches) as both of the older two decisively aggravate her - because they think it’s cute when she screams at such decibels. Good times. They have giggled together, and have tattled on each other. They have spilled milk and wiped it up. My chest has gone “all twisty” thrice times three, just during this writing.
And I love them. I can’t imagine life without each one. At the gym today, a 70’s-ish young woman imparted the usual wisdom as I shared the ages of my three, “Take advantage of this time… they’ll be grown and married before you know it…” I sensed a sadness in her eyes.
I wonder if she sensed the fear in mine. Will I blow it again today? Will I fall short… again? What new regrets will I amass? Will I hug them enough? How do I help them learn to be independent, yet be “hands-on” enough to communicate I love them and will take care of them? Why is it so hard to speak gently? How? Will? What? Why? Do you feel my chest getting “all twisty” again?
Breaking news: The boy just assaulted the middle daughter. There is wailing and gnashing of teeth. The youngest screamed at the boy as a protective gesture toward her sister, “You. Don’t. Hurt. Your. Poopy. Sister!” They all stopped. The blood-letting and terrorizing stopped - if only for a moment… and they laughed.
Me? My chest twisted again, and I laughed too.
And… the tale of two cities in the country of My Motherhood is still being written… I will be accepting prayers, positive feedback, and cash - I am going to start a “Therapy Fund” for my children… I may buy a few session for myself too.
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Keep up-to-date on the insane, the insightful, and the whatever…
You describe it so well. This is exactly how I feel each and every day. Thank you!!
Well said. We all go through these phases, and it will continue, and we’ll have pride and fears, but always love.
“Will I blow it again today? Will I fall short… again? What new regrets will I amass? Will I hug them enough? How do I help them learn to be independent, yet be “hands-on” enough to communicate I love them and will take care of them? Why is it so hard to speak gently? How? Will? What? Why?”
Gosh, other mothers experience this? I thought it was just me.
We do the best we can every day. It’s not failure unless you kill ‘em or leave them in the parking lot (intentionally). You’re a great mom.
I gave you an award today. ‘Cause I love you. And dang it, if I don’t miss your crazy self.
Amen sister! Preach it loud! Now that’s what I’m talking ’bout. Twisty hearts.
By the way, I just started training on Monday for my first half marathon! Any advice?
Such a great post you wrote! Ah, motherhood, it definitely isn’t easy, especially when you give your firstborn a sibling.
Jenny;
This is such a beautifully written post; thoughtful, musing, insightful, questioning, wise and on and on.
You are so correct that parenting is just like Dickens described; “the best of times and the worst of times”. As the parent of “children” now in their early 20’s I know that time passes quickly. I also know that those kids nearly drove us nuts bickering, fighting, and complicating almost everything we tried to do as a family. Somehow, the love we have for our children defies all understanding; such is the protectiveness and intensity of the emotion we have for them. It never ends either…
Gorgeously written.
You are such a gifted writer. So many quotables here, but I think my favorite is “pink puffy hearts blow from my every breath.” Where do you get this stuff?
I have one child. It’s a different kind of madness, but I have a deep appreciation for your pain. I have a feeling you’re kicking butt on the winning team of moms.
Gosh, I wish I had written this. I mean, I probably COULD have written it, adapted to my family, because it’s much of the same around here. But you captured it so beautifully. I’m jealous of your mad writing skillz.
LOVE this. My little one is still very young, but I’m always afraid I’ll look back and feel that I didn’t slow down enough to savor these precious and fleeting months. You captured it all so perfectly. I love your writing style and I will most definitely be coming back for more.
Girl, with what you have written, it is obvious that you “got” what 70something gym lady was talking about. Kids.. they suck the joy out of your life, only to be the ones to pour it back in. Little buggers. Love you.
Wow, very good post. I think the old woman is probably like me…she might not have heeded that warning herself until it was all gone. I would love to take my oldest children and go back in time, let them have play doh all the time, let them paint everywhere, let them stay up from naptime….all things I needed to control when they were younger.
You my friend have a serious gift with words…keep on writing!
Wow…how did you do that?? Really? While your chest was twisting, you were rockin’ the descriptive adjectives! That was dead on. Too bad I couldn’t have read it prior to birthing my boys. Then again, I would’ve said, “Not gonna happen to me…I’ll be the best mom in the world and my kids will rise and call me Blessed!”
Yea…I was that naive.
I, too, get so worn out over being the referee. It seems to be the most difficult part for me. And the times where I blow it the most often.
Pink fluffy hearts and butterfly kisses help make it better, but in the back of my head I am fearful of what the future therapy sessions will reveal! Maybe I should start a fund too.
Great post.