Motherhood: beauty + pain filled, joyous + hard
Last week wore me thin in all the places that were hanging onto thickness.
If you're unsure of what that means, so am I. If you think that means I've lost weight, that's not what I was implying and also we don't have a scale so I wouldn't know.
I'm averaging 4 pints of ice cream a week, so there's that. We're all in different places. This is my place.
What I am trying to say is this: I am tired.
I experienced more frustration last week altogether than I have in my short 9 months of being a mama to babies out of the womb. So many cries, constantly being poured from sweet little mouths, making my heart crumble.
I don't know if the lack of sleep is weighing on me, if the imbalance of my hormones is wrecking me, or if I have a lot going on with keeping up with writing/photography/wife-ing/mothering.. or all of the above ..but I cried a whole lot and said a whole lot of times: I can't do this.
As I attempted to pull the socks on one screaming, thrashing baby the other morning while the other laid on the floor looking at me like I was physically hurting him, I asked myself why I felt such frustration.
It wasn't because they were screaming and I thought it was annoying. It wasn't because they were acting like babies (they are babies). It wasn't because they wake me up at night. It wasn't because I regretted making them mine. It was not because I think they are a burden.
I do not feel my children are burdens. I do not think of them as ruining my life. I cherish them beyond what I knew I could. Most of my social media posts are drenched in gratitude because that is what makes up the matter of my heart, it is what keeps me going when I feel I cannot, it is the product of the weight of the wait.
I feel wary about ever sharing even the slightest bit of my tiredness or frustration, out of fear of anyone thinking I don't cherish the privilege it is to be these boys' mama. Most of the time, my tears are because I remain in shock that I get to be theirs, that He chose me for them, and that I get to sacrifice myself for them on a constant basis.
The life I get to live, the pages turned telling the story unfolding as our journey, is captivating to me. That such loss and grief can coexist with and transform into great joy and redemption, unravels me. It takes my breath away and stops me up short and always reminds me of His grace.
I'm often asking Him, "is this really my life?"
I started tagging my instagram posts with #ThisUndeservedLife because that is the weight of honor I feel: wholly undeserved, is this beautiful life.
I discovered this morning what is frustrating to me is the reality that I am not enough. That I am one human. I am human.
My impatience stems from acknowledging that I cannot meet their every need. I did not realize this was an assumption or expectation I had - I was sure I was entering this new life as a mama acknowledging that it would be hard, messy, not-glamorous, and that I am not enough.
When the inconsolable crying struck hour three last night, I felt depleted and helpless. What's a mama to do if she cannot comfort her baby/babies?
The reality that I am not able to always comfort and soothe and calm my sad, crying babies torments me, especially in the heat of the moment. If I had an extra hand, I'd be pulling my hair out. My heart aches while the tears fall. I fight feeling frustrated, shaming myself for feeling anything but bliss, and exhaust myself all the more.
Shame is an ugly thing. Shame is exhausting. Shame has no place here.
I've noticed lately that I am entirely frustrated and often sad with myself. I get frustrated that I'm not writing enough, frustrated I write so much and don't spend more time snuggling the babies, frustrated at myself when I'm sad about my boys not getting their own infant stage, frustrated when I'm grieving particular parts of this summer and the way Ira joined us, frustrated when I'm exhausted and impatient, frustrated at myself when I just stare at my screaming babies, frozen and unsure what to do, I'm sad my body can't handle what it used to - I can barely run a 13 minute mile without being in a lot of pain - frustrated I'm not praying out loud as much as I'd envisioned, frustrated at aspects of our marriage... frustrated and giving myself no permission to freely feel the sad that knocks on the door of my heart quite frequently.
Shame is an ugly thing. Shame is exhausting. Shame has no place here.
I fear that if I allow the sad to have its own space in my heart, no matter how little of a space it needs, I and others will ignore or discount the extreme joy that takes precedence. It seems popular to complain about motherhood and I never want that to be what I'm known for: complaining. We are all in different places. And that's good. Honesty about motherhood's difficulties has its very necessary place but so does slowing down and finding the grace in gratitude. I fear missing out on the complete and pure joys of this [time of] life and have some weird twisted idea that denying the hard parts will ensure I'm fully experiencing the great parts. I do not want to look back in 5 years and regret the oxygen I allowed my heart to breathe.
But I wonder if fighting off the sad that sometimes knocks is something I will regret. If I will look back and realize I didn't fully feel joy because I was afraid to fully feel any sad and acknowledge how incredibly hard a lot of this is.
I'm going to try this thing this week. I'm going to attempt to sit in whatever I'm feeling or experiencing rather than fight it, allowing shame to consume those feelings. I'm going to invite myself to fully feel both the sad, hard parts of this time of life and also the joyful, beautiful parts. I don't exactly know what that looks like, but I think it might be allowing the feelings of sad to not be drenched in shame and fought off by what little energy I have.
I think it looks like looking at those feelings and experiences and saying, "I feel you, Sad. And that's okay. You are real and you are justified. You do not take away from my Deep Gratitude and the love I have for this time and my family."
I'm a mama to two babies, 5 months apart under 9 months. I'm not enough for them if being enough means meeting their every need perfectly; but He saw me as fit to be theirs and that is enough for me.
PS. Currently is bliss: Ira asleep in my left arm, Sage babbling behind me giving me big toothy grins, Loren making curry. #ThisUndeservedLife.
