Tag Archives: Motherhood

Month Nine: Never Say Never.

I let M cry herself to sleep this month. It was both hard and easy, if that’s even possible. Co-sleeping hadn’t been working for weeks. I’d noticed she slept more peacefully during the day, alone, than she did next to me at night. A couple times during her naps it had taken me longer to get to her than it did to put herself back to sleep. I’d seen she could do it. I was also starting to lose my mind with the number of wakings each night. I know it’s a season, but something needed to change.

So, the first night I ate ice cream on the kitchen counter as I watched the clock. Maybe that sounds cold, but I was self-soothing, too. 25 minute crying spells punctuated by periods of sleep. By midnight I reassessed my goals. We wouldn’t do the whole night, just bedtime. My nerves were frayed and I missed my baby. The next night 9 minutes, the following just 30 seconds. Now bedtime is, dare I say it, easy.

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Still, I nurse her twice a night and sometimes fall back asleep with her in my bed until she starts to climb my head again and remind me why co-sleeping wasn’t working. If I had it my way, we’d sweetly snuggle in deep slumber all night long. Ha. Instead we dance between her travel crib and my bed, listening to the intensity of her needs. And, this is a huge improvement, as we both now sleep for actual stretches of time, and many wakings she puts herself back to sleep.

Maybe we’ll focus on removing one of those remaining feedings next, but for now we’ll catch our breaths and just be happy for the easy bedtimes and respective moments of independence. A friend reminded me it doesn’t have to be all or nothing. After all, they call it baby steps for a reason.

Month nine has reminded me how every child and parent relationship is different. I especially realize this now, as we navigate our own middle ground, carving our path that doesn’t match any particular sleep training plan beyond our own.

I’m also reminded how childhood is a state of perpetual change, of togetherness and letting go. Her sister declared her own independence this month, without any forethought, and now sleeps soundly in her room. My heart aches a little to let them both go in these small ways, but I’m confident it’s time.

 

Months Seven & Eight: Home & Forever

“Can we stay here forever?” Her sister asks.

She’s obsessed with the idea of forever lately. “Can I keep you forever?” is her daily, heart-wrenching request. Three and a half years, and eight months. If I could keep them forever, I would. The first time she asked, I cried silently in the darkness of our shared bedroom. It was time for sleep and I was thankful she couldn’t see my tears.

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“Mom, take this picture!” she commands and I listen because she’s right. These are moments I want to capture.

Now as we settle into our new home, I just want time to stand still. Eight months have escaped through my fingers, despite my whole-hearted desire to hold on tight. The first time, those baby months moved slowly. The second I can hardly believe I’m already chasing a wiggly body across the floor.

In April, we found out we had to move. We knew it was a temporary home, but a new baby had me more deeply nested than I ever expected. As I stood on the front porch in my pajamas, reading the notice in sleep-deprived disbelief, I felt cheated.

My baby was not even three months old and all I wanted to do was snuggle and drink her in. We were finally finding our groove as a family of four and the last thing I wanted to do was spend a month of my life packing all our worldly belongings and looking for a new place to live. Even the little strawberries E tended outside our front door pulled at my heart, tears when I saw they’d finally ripened for her the day after all our stuff had been moved.

Little did I know it was exactly the push we needed.

A couple years ago I drew a picture. Four stick people stood happy in front of a simple home with two dogs, a large garden, and chickens. The smallest stick figure was a baby I didn’t know yet. A baby we had yet to create. Nearby I drew a Waldorf school. In my mind I was drawing a life somewhere far away. Oregon, maybe. I had no idea this would all come together just 15 minutes down the road.

Around the same time we started packing, a sweet friend found out she had to move for her husband’s job. I’d loved their huge backyard and an idea hit me—maybe we could buy their house if the timing worked out. Shyly I texted her and then kept on packing. It was then I found the picture, long forgotten, but still very much alive in my subconscious.
And, sure enough, all the pieces came together. We lived with family for a few months while we waited and then moved into exactly the house I’d drawn years before. Even the mysterious fourth family member had materialized, the Waldorf school, and the chickens. To add to the magic, my friend told me her daughter had started praying for E months before we even knew we had to move. I think her prayers helped bring us here.

Sometimes life feels too good to be true. I always get nervous when I have this feeling, like if I start breathing again I’ll wake up from the dream. So as her sister asks if we can stay forever, my heart aches a little. We’re in a sweet spot right now, even as the outside world seems to crumble around us.

Month eight and she says, “Mom, mom, mom, mom, mom,” in her little baby voice, again and again. I don’t know how she’s gotten so big already, but then I look at her sister and know how quickly everything changes. If I could really keep them both forever, I would.

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Simple, happy moments in our new backyard… And, no, those aren’t both my beers.

Month Four: Patience, Mama.

18986617_10105635723227303_598931090_oI worried, maybe because that’s what moms do. I forgot how my love for her sister intensified with time, a cumulative effect. Instead I looked back on three years and saw all the moments condensed together into one sensation in my heart.

So, the second time around, I expected to feel it all at once. The depth, the overwhelm, the obsession. When I was greeted instead with a familiar warmth, I thought maybe I was missing out on something earth shaking.

I asked everyone with more than one kid whether the bonding was different the second time, whether it was easier to bond with their first. I felt guilty asking. I worried people would think I was suffering from postpartum depression and hadn’t bonded at all, even though, of course, there should be no shame in those struggles. But I didn’t want there to be any confusion. I loved her already, it just didn’t feel the same as I thought it should.

I came up with all kinds of hypotheses. Maybe it was the medicated birth. Perhaps it was my fault for jumping back into work so quickly or not asking for more help so I could lie in bed and stare at her. Or maybe it was just the distractions of trying to take care of so much more with two children.

What I didn’t consider was time. I’d forgotten how I’d spent every afternoon nursing her sister in bed in an effort to bond more. Or how after months of colic, I’d pulled her sister to my chest and wept because some unknown layer of myself had been cracked open and suddenly her screaming was a call to hold her even closer instead of drive me away.

All I’d initially remembered of our bonding the first time was the intensity of those first hours of motherhood, as I’d transformed through the rawness of it all. I expected to sit in our hospital suite and feel it all again in that same life changing way. However, I’d already become a mother this time. My entire being wasn’t altered as it had been with her sister. I mistook this for a difference in bonding, when really it was just a difference in myself. That particular magic only happens once.

Four months in and I finally feel as connected to M as I’d hoped I would in those first moments. I can’t get enough of her wiggles and giggles. She is already quite the talker and wants so badly to run around and play with her sister. I’ve gotten better at sitting still and being with her. The adrenaline has worn off and I’ve relaxed, for the most part, into being a mom of two. Sometimes I’m caught off guard by the enormity of getting to love another baby. Moments of happy disbelief as I realize I get to do it all again. An incredible opportunity. Another daughter to love with all my heart.

 

Two.

12842543_10104252860195903_1581912007_oLittle feet hit hard against my knees.

When did she get so long?

She screams as I press her tight against me. Memories of colic flooding back. Now she’s bigger and I know it will stop within minutes instead of hours. Still, night terrors bring all the same feelings back. Please. Make. It. Stop. Please.

Two years, today.

I’ve revisited each moment of anticipation for the past week. Going into the hospital to get checked. Sleeping every afternoon to build strength for the nightly contractions. Returning to the hospital again. An entire family anxious in the waiting room. And, finally, at 8:27 this morning, the moment when she was handed to me and everything changed.

Two years.

Everything is Thomas the Train now, even the little boy undies she’d prefer to wear outside. Obligatory morning hugs for her “grumpy” dogs. “I missed you” breaking and healing my heart simultaneously. Embraces worthy of a luchador, making me a little sorry for those maybe not-so-grumpy dogs. Wash everything, hands and blankies, but never teeth. “Mine” for all things she wants and “yours” for all things she doesn’t. The sweetest sleeping face I’ve ever seen, legs that seem to reach for the far end of the bed, or more often her dad’s face.

My growing girl. My little love. Sometimes I still can’t believe you’re real.

 

Two.

Letting Go for the Sake of Balance

I realized I was so focused on trying to find a way to work from home that I wasn't actually focusing on what matters most when I'm at home.
I realized I was so focused on trying to find a way to work from home that I wasn’t actually focusing on what matters most when I’m at home. My family.

Something happened last summer. I was suddenly in turbo drive. After nearly a year and a half of being in total mommy mode, all my other curiosities flooded back. I wanted to do EVERYTHING. Teach, write, start a business, work for my husband, take care of my family…

I felt like supermom. I could do it all. And, I did, for about six months and then it became too much. I found myself less present with my family. I wasn’t exercising as much as I needed. I couldn’t keep up around the house. I forgot what it felt like to sit on the couch. Still, I couldn’t decide what to let go. I liked it ALL so how could I make a choice?

Thankfully, I had this nagging feeling time would tell. Oh, patience, a lesson I must need again and again. And, just like that, a new (part-time!) teaching opportunity I’ve been lusting after presented itself. Suddenly everything else made sense. Teaching, writing, family were non-negotiable.

It all feels a little obvious as I write this now. After all, I taught and wrote before my daughter was born, but I had been so focused on keeping myself at home as much as possible that I’d lost track of why I wanted to be home in the first place, to be with my family. By letting go and being out of the house a bit more, I’m actually able to be more present in all aspects of my life.

Even so, I had fun experimenting with my previously dormant entrepreneurial spirit. I learned a lot. Especially about margins and what my time is worth. I let myself be a hummingbird and I have renewed faith it will prove useful somewhere down the road.

For now, Wandertots is mostly on hold. At first I thought it would require a lot of humility to share this but instead it feels empowering. We should have the right to experiment and put ourselves out there without worrying about how it makes us look. I have no trouble taking ownership over the fact that I have a lot of interests and love learning through experimentation.

I’m still fulfilling orders and have oddly become the queen of selling kid’s headphones, so if you want any busy items, get in touch. I’ll give you a good discount for being a loyal reader. That’s the irony. Wandertots received a ton of interest and still receives regular orders, it’s just not the best home-based model, or at least not the way I’m doing it.

Whew.

Sharing all that feels like the load is getting lighter and I can focus again. If you’ve been in my shoes of doing more than you can handle, I wish you the patience and awareness to let what matters most float to the top. It’s not easy letting anything go, but the last few weeks have felt so much better for me. I’m even writing again, something that had fallen to the bottom because it seemed the least profitable. But I guess that’s just it. You never know, you just have to keep working at what calls you, even when sometimes you’re called multiple places at once.