In a Nutshell

This Mother’s Day was motherhood in a nutshell for me. A day of highs and lows.

I’m sick again with a cough I caught from Bub, who caught it from preschool last week.

I snapped at Bub this morning for not washing his hands when I asked him to, after he laid on the garage floor.

I was hungry and cranky when I snapped at Steve because I hadn’t eaten breakfast.

While in the kitchen making lunch, I felt guilty for ignoring G, who was in the living room crying and clawing at Steve to try to get to me.

I held G in my lap as I tried to eat my eggs and kimchi.

I was exasperated when Bub wanted me to carry him everywhere.

On the other hand, Steve did everything he could to make me happy.

After I put G down for her morning nap, I got special 1:1 time with Bub when we went to the forest preserve together.

We had an impromptu family dance party before the kids took their afternoon naps.

Both kids napped at the same time and woke up at the same time.

We managed to get out of the house this evening. It was a gorgeous weekend weather-wise.

At bedtime, Bub, completely unprompted, said, “Happy Mother’s Day. I love you.”

I have a lot to be thankful for.

Blink

“It’s a privilege to hold a baby.”

That’s what my aunt said to me after I thanked her for holding G while I napped with Bub. It was September of last year. G was two weeks old and I was plumb exhausted.

Since then, her words have stuck with me, especially when I finally have a quiet moment with G. Most of the time, she has to share my attention with her brother. We find our quiet moments together at bedtime. When she’s asleep in my arms in the serenity of her room, the noise machine blocking out the rest of the world. Before my mind starts to wander, I sit and stare at her angelic face. Her long lashes fanning downward. Her perfect little pout resting in a frown. Her hands in prayer formation, folded over her chest. I listen to her quietly snore. The top of her head still has a newborn-even-though-she’s-not-a-newborn scent. I feel privileged to be able to hold a baby. My baby. My sleeping baby.

I’m afraid I’ll blink and she won’t be a baby anymore.

Every morning, Bub wakes me up by saying, “Mom, it’s daytime. Time to get up.” I slowly blink open my eyelids. Every fiber of my being wants to sleep longer.

I blink again and suddenly, it’s night time. Another day with the kids gone by.

I’m afraid to blink again.

Newfound Self

There was life before kids and there was life after kids.

I never anticipated that my life after kids would require intense reprogramming, rewiring, and reparenting of myself. I emerged out of my post-pandemic, postpartum daze eager to do the inner work to become the best parent I could. A mix of different therapies, conversations with friends, and self-help books have gotten me to the more enlightened place I am today - someone who isn’t going to have a crushing panic attack when she leaves the house with her kids.

Looking back at the dark place I was in when I first became a mom, I told Steve that I probably should have been institutionalized. He didn’t disagree.

I’m doing the readings. I’m doing the homework. I’m doing everything I possibly can to be the parent I want to be, the person I want to be. I can finally feel myself going through the transformation. A second coming of myself, if you will.

It took having a kid to make me realize just how severe my insecurities and anxieties were. It took having a second kid to make me finally let go and move on to becoming the person I’m meant to be.

The three biggest revelations I’ve had so far are:

1. Being a perfectionist isn’t a bad thing. In fact, perfectionism is a superpower if I stay connected with myself and remember that “ideals are not meant to be achieved, only meant to inspire” (from a life-changing book: The Perfectionist’s Guide to Losing Control).

2. Emotions aren’t good or bad. They are simply learnings. Learning about what I like and don’t like, what I want more of in my life, what my boundaries are. What I used to consider a “negative” emotion is really my mind and body trying to tell me something.

3. Every part of me belongs. The good, the bad, the ugly, the awkward. The parts of me still yet unhealed. The parts of me that are. Accepting all of me and believing that my worth isn’t conditional - it’s a profoundly liberating feeling.

Even though I see these revelations and I believe in them, I’m not yet at the point where I’m internalizing them. But, I’ll get there. Baby steps.

Maybe when my baby takes her first steps, these newfound beliefs will be a little more rooted in my subconscious. Maybe when she learns to run, I’ll no longer be riddled with fear. I’ll be able to run outside with her. Present. Carefree. Joyful.

Never Enough

As my maternity leave comes to an end (my very last maternity leave ever for the rest of my life because G is definitely my last baby), I am feeling 1,000% sentimental. I know spending time on something other than my children (like my career) is a good thing for me, but I’m really really going to miss this dedicated bonding time with them.

I know I’m coming from a place of privilege. In the US, most mothers are forced back to work within two weeks of giving birth. TWO WEEKS! I was still bleeding, cramping, and barely functioning two weeks after I delivered.

Last year, a friend of mine told me that she couldn’t get enough of her second child. I thought it was because her second child puts herself to sleep and is generally more laid back than her first. Now that I have a second child, I understand what she means.

I can’t get enough of G either.

It feels impossible for me to spend as much time with her as I want to. It’s simple math.

Bub got 100% of my time, being my firstborn. G gets 50% of my time, being my secondborn. 50% on a good day.

Bub is usually the loudest voice in the room and most of the time, we’re paying attention to him. It’s difficult to focus on G when Bub is yelling for me or yelling in G’s face or being loud because, well, he’s a three-year-old.

Now that I’m going back to work, I’m worried that my time with G will be even shorter. How am I possibly going to work full-time AND give each child the attention they deserve AND find time for my marriage, my friends, and myself? Oh yeah, and my dog! When do I get to sit and cuddle with Buddha on the couch while watching Bob’s Burgers and mindlessly stuffing my face with chips?

It feels impossible for me to cram everything into one 24-hour period. Because it IS impossible.

There aren’t enough hours in the day to do everything I want to do. Something will almost always have to give. Someone recommended to me once that I find my “one thing” every day that I do for myself. For me, that "one thing” changes depending on how I’m feeling that day. I know it should be working out. I should work out every day. It’s just hard to commit when I have two very small children. Any routine for myself feels like too much of a commitment these days.

Will I ever feel like I have enough time again? What is “enough” anyway? Is an hour of quality time with each kid “enough”? Is it less about the amount of time and more about how present I am with that time? Does it have to be equal between the two kids? On some days, does “enough” look like taking Bub to the library and giving G a bath?

I don’t know that it will ever be enough. I will always want more hours in the day and more time with my kids.

Split

As a parent, I am feeling constantly split these days. If I’m not with Bub, then I’m with G. If I’m not with G, then I’m with Bub. If I’m with my kids, then I want to be by myself. If I’m by myself, then I want to be with my kids.

On a good day, feeling split may look like spending quality time with G in the morning while Bub is at preschool and spending quality time with Bub when he gets home. I feel balanced and content with both kids. On a rough day, feeling split may look like a sleep-deprived me trying to wash bottle parts while G is screaming and Bub is yelling, “Mom! Mom! Look at me! Look at me!”. I feel over-stimulated, burnt out, and about to erupt.

Having two kids is like having two conversations at the same time. All the time. Bub, being verbal and mobile, is usually the loudest voice in the room. When I’m playing with G, my focus breaks away to the Tasmanian Devil racing around me, yelling “Mom! Mom! Look at me!”. Compared to when Bub was a baby, I don’t have all the time in the world to pay attention to G and that makes me feel guilty.

When I do finally get time with G and she is snuggled against my chest, I get emotional thinking about how fast she’s growing and want to hold her forever. Yet at the same time, I have a strong desire to get up and do something for myself - be it get a drink of water, go to the bathroom, check my email, sleep horizontally, anything. Such is my life. I am endlessly torn.

I try to satisfy both and give her a few extra squeezes before laying her down in her crib. Because I know now that I’ll be a better mom if I give myself a break.

Parenting, I've learned, is all about trade-offs. It’s about feeling conflicting emotions simultaneously. It’s celebrating firsts and lasts all together. It’s finding the discipline to focus on the child in front of me instead of getting distracted with the grocery list. And, it often requires being a hypocrite. I am judged and constantly judging. How is it that I feel dead inside and like I’m thriving at the same time? I am both living the dream and losing the dreamer in me.

This poem by Karen McMillan called “Mother of All Contradictions” nails it:

I’m so happy with my choices

Yet question them daily

I’ve never felt so accomplished

Then suddenly, failing

I’m excited for the future

Yet always looking back

I’m bursting at the seams

With all the things that I lack

I’m vacant

But always so full of you

I’ve learned so much

But still don’t have a clue

I’m close to my limit

But can’t get enough

I’m put upon, I’m passive

But undeniably tough

I’m gentle

But can’t help shouting

I’m certainly

Doubting

I’m oblivious

But care, so much, what you think

I’m the steady, stable one

Always teetering on the brink

I’m unemployed

Yet have never worked so bloody hard

I’m that happy smiling soul

Who’s full of mard

I’m permanently skint

But have never felt richer

I’m mindfully looking

At the bigger picture

I need a break

But always want you close

I’m invisible

But have never felt so exposed

I give others advice

I can’t seem to follow

I find yours, especially

Hard to swallow

I complain that I’m lonely

But just want to be alone

I’m positively grateful

But love a good moan

I’m absent

Yet ever-present

I’m dull

But effervescent

I’m tired

Yet enlivened

I’m loving this

But can’t abide it

I’m strong in my beliefs

Yet lack conviction

I’m reality TV

And a work of fiction

I’m the Mother

of all contradiction