I’m finding it difficult these days to find the beauty in humble places. In spit-up and yellow poop, fussy cries that never stop and potty training accidents. These are the humble places I embrace as being beautiful, and yet it’s all I can do to maintain my sanity on a day-to-day basis.
I wanted to wax poetic here about how thankful I am for these two little ones I’ve been given. How the last (almost) six weeks have been a dream and filled with beautiful memory-making moments that I’m keeping in my heart like Mary did with Jesus. But I’m far from Mary and I’m definitely not feeling all that thankful these days, to be honest. I’m tired. I’m so tired. My back aches all the time from wearing a little girl all day as that’s the only way she doesn’t fuss. My conscience hurts from being more harsh with a little boy than I ever thought I could be. I’m getting sick. I haven’t taken a shower longer than 3 minutes since late January. I hate cooking. And I can’t keep my eyes open past 10 pm which means I get all of about an hour to spend with my husband at night….and sometimes that hour includes us trading off a little girl who just can’t seem to go to sleep.
Moan moan moan. Did I honestly think this was going to be easy? I don’t know. I think I thought it would be different than it is. That my life would continue on in some shape similar to the one I had before C came along because I knew more about mothering than I did when B was born.
But this is really hard.
I love my kids. I love that I get to say “my kids.” But I’m not being the mother I want to be these days and I think that’s the worst part of all of this. I’ve heard more than a million times that three-and-a-half is one of the worst ages for kids. That your precious little one will suddenly turn into some kind of crazy nightmare spawn who you don’t recognize let alone want to be around. But I think in our house, that person is actually me as I have about thismuch patience these days and unfortunately B is the one who feels the weight of that. I think what makes me the most sad is that he was my WORLD for so long….for three years. He is my son. He is my firstborn. He was the one who broke me into this mothering role and he’s the one with whom I struggled through it all. We struggled through it together. But now another small person needs me to help them through and I just don’t know how to include him in that nor do I have the energy to be what I think I need to be for him. I feel like I’m somehow, in a matter of weeks, managing to negate every positive interaction I’ve had with him in the last three years. This absolutely kills me.
Like I said….this is hard. I know there’s beauty in it. I know my daughter’s eyes and smiles are amazing and my son’s hugs and little “I love you, Mama” offerings are music to my heart, but these days it’s all I can do to try and pull myself out of the puddle of guilt I’m drowning in and fry up some eggs for breakfast.
I said I was going to be more real here. And so I am.