I remember fondly the birth of my first child and our subsequent first couple of years together. It was magical, just like every book said it would be. I captured every moment in triplicate through photos, baby books, or simply on the pages of my heart. I loved every tear and every tantrum, finding enduring appeal in her every single action. I was madly in love with Motherhood! Every single, solitary bit!
Something changed when I had my second child. I didn’t intend it, but there it was none the less, like an unwelcome intruder sneaking in stealthily in the middle of the night, stealing that excitement, that wonder, that awe and joy I had found as a first time mother.
I’m not sure if it was the added pressure of raising and completely caring for a second little human or the coinciding entrance of my two year old first child into the hell-on-wheels, cyclic mess that is terrible twos and beyond, but something caused a shift of change inside me.
I wasn’t happy. Well, that sounds awful. I was happy. But I also wasn’t if you can understand that. My happiness over being a mommy was being overshadowed by my frustrations, by my anger, by my disappointment in myself to be the kind of mother I longed to be, one that was joyful in the gift, not discontent and disgruntled.
I was mourning the loss of the big family I had always dreamed of, realizing that perhaps I wasn’t meant to mother more than two. I grieved over the sons I would never bear having given up on being able to function with a larger family than I currently had. I could barely get out the door as it was so what could I do with more? And worse, how would I react if I did?
I never stopped praying about it, beseeching God to help me be a better mother, the mother He would desire for me to be. I certainly didn’t feel like I was fitting the bill as I watched my three year old cover her ears and cringe to try and block my shouts of frustration over the expected actions of a preschooler.
I began my quest by trying not to yell as much. This went over like a lead balloon. My intentions sunk quickly in the face of my impatience. It would work for a while, my desire to stop yelling, stop being so angry, but then I’d revert back to my short-tempered ways.
I didn’t notice any substantial change until I made the decision to try and see my life from a different angle. I began my experiment to find the dirty diamond among the rubble of the mine, to try and find the good in the middle of the bad. Because really, was it all that bad?
I started to make the conscious effort to see beauty in even the frustrating things.
To catch a hold of that precious sigh a baby makes when they finally fall into a deep slumber. When you’ve been rocking them all night, you’re sleep deprived and weary in your bones, but then you look at their face, the sweet, serene face of a baby held close, comforted by your love. And then they sigh. I took that sound and held it close, wrapping it around my frayed nerves like a bandage, soothing me from the inside out.
The mounds of endless laundry begging me to fold. Instead of the pile of fabric I focused on the tiny socks, swimming amongst the adult laundry, little mismatched reminders of sweet, fat feet, ready to be kissed and toes counted. Little feet that would only stay that small for a short time.
I needed to find the humor in the frustrating moments, choosing laughter over anger, remembering that disastrous kid moments aren’t the end of the world, but just another part of the day, a part worth laughing over, not crying.
Not just seeing food all over the living room rug, but deciphering the body count of dismembered animal crackers melting upon the crime scene; a headless horse, rhino, and even a decapitated lion among the victims.
Not just seeing the trail of toilet paper pulled from the roll and twined through the hall like a mountain climber’s tether back to safe ground, but seeing the smile of a tiny explorer’s joy for a mission completed.
I needed to be thankful for what I had, not what I imagined I was lacking.
In the middle of the endless founts of snot, 3am wakings, and constant whining, the realization of how good it truly is. Saying thank you God for my healthy babies. Thank you for colds and viruses that last only a couple of weeks, rather than something far worse.
In the middle of constant interrupted moments. No bath by yourself or time alone to toilet. But saying thank you God! Thank you they want to spend time with me, that they love me. I finally have the clique of girlfriends I always wanted. Appreciating it while it’s present.
It came down to me making a conscious decision to find the beauty, the humor, the thankfulness, and the joy hidden amongst my busyness, realizing that motherhood wasn’t simply tasks to be performed to ensure I was raising them right, but moments upon moments of precious happiness waiting for me to experience, ensuring we were raising each other right.
Because see, I wasn’t just taking care of them, but they were also taking care of me. God was using my little babies to change my heart, increase my joy, and show me all the miracles present in every day life, even in the seemingly bad. I realized that none of it was really bad. Not really. It was directly proportional to how I chose to perceive it, and react to it.
I realized it was all good. I could see it as good and enjoy life more fully, enjoy my children more, enjoy the gift of being Mom.
When I finally decided to search out the beauty in the ugliness of kid-raising, the joy in the middle of frustration, the precious moments in the chaos, then, and only then could I really and truly enjoy every morsel of motherhood.
I stopped yelling so much and started laughing more. I started smiling more and frowning less. I started being proud of how I was doing. I’ve even thought more about those sons. But don’t tell my daughters that. I don’t think they’re ready.
Won’t you join me? Make the decision to seek happiness, seek beauty, seek joy, even in the seemingly ugly. Finally find rainbows in the poop and posies in the puke.
April Hodges says
This is so true- my hubby actually stays home fulltime with our 2 boys- so I forwarded this on to him, and a really great Nurse friend of mine that works in the PACU. You have to find the little nuggets of beauty….well said!
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you for the comment. And thanks for sharing it as well. My husband stayed home with our first daughter. He did great, but prefers working outside of the home this time around. Haha. Thanks again.
April Hodges says
p.s. love the pics!!!
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Ahhhh. Thanks. I did have fun sharing them.