The unexpected milestones.

I've been reflecting a lot on the milestones of my children that I hadn't anticipated.  In a few short months, Elliott will turn 6 and Bennett will turn 3.  I've been hit with the realization that though I still feel like such a novice, I don't even have babies anymore!  It's both exhilarating and terrifying--moving into this new territory.

Along the way, there were certain milestones I looked forward to--like weaning, the completion of  potty-training, and sleeping through the night.  Honestly, we're still working on the whole sleeping through the night thing with Bennett, a milestone I'd assumed would happen a few months into her life, but (oops!) I was wrong.  Luckily, the other milestones have come pretty easily.

But then there are the unexpected milestones--the ones I never really thought about--the ones that once they actually happen, you realize how awesome they are.  Some are significant, others are not, but they're milestones nonetheless.

Buckling their own car seat. Who knew such a small and mundane task, when completed by my child, was cause for celebration?  Since my kids are on the small (err, like seriously small for their ages) side, I know that we are going to have a longtime love affair with carseats.  Not having to buckle both of those 5 point harnesses every time we load up?  Priceless.

Sitting on a park bench.  (Me, not the kids.)  At almost three, Bennett is now venturing away from me on the playground.  My friend Tabby and I often take our gals to the park and marvel at the fact that we now occasionally get to sit back and chat, guilt-free, while the kids occupy themselves.  It's a far cry from that chaos that park trips consisted of a few years ago, right Tabby?

Skipping a nap without major repercussions. I'm not going to say that I a fan of skipping naps--they're still a high priority on my daily list.  However, there's so much freedom in knowing that if we happen to have to shift or skip naptime, it won't be World War III.

Managing sickness. Without going into details, kids are gross.  Elliott, at almost 6, can handle the majority of her bodily functions on her own, and this includes maintaining good aim when sick (which thankfully is RARE).  Not having to change clothing and sheets when a bug hits is a bonus for everyone.  I can't yet say the same for little sis, so for now, Stanley Steemer and I are pretty tight and I know easier days are in store.

No diaper bag. No diapers, no diaper bag.  Niiiiiiicee.

Drinking from a straw. I think my girls each picked up the skill of drinking through a straw around the age of one.  This was a game-changer for me because it meant that I no longer had to be in constant possession of a sippy cup.  Don't even get me started on how much I hate the phrase "sippy cup", and even worse than that was washing the things and all those teeny holes and plastic valves.  I'm grateful that we're in the regular ol' cup stage around the house, but I do remember when the babes learning to drink from a straw was a game-changer.

A few of these milestones recently joined up to equal our family's first camping trip.  Like, a for real sleeping-in-the-tent-all-night-long camping trip.  And shocker--it was SO enjoyable!

I've been told that other unanticipated milestones are coming.  A very wise and seasoned Mom recently told me a neat milestone to look forward to is when the kids can bathe themselves.  I hadn't even considered this rite of passage, and I realize I'm still years away, but man oh man, the ability to say "go take a shower" without having to be involved?  That's going to be a good day.

I'd love to know some of your favorite unexpected milestones.

I can do this.

I really do believe that there's so much about parenthood that's not understood until you're in the trenches.  A dog is a fabulous trainer for parenting.  I know for me, it was an experience to learn to put the need of a little precious and innocent canine above my own.  Bonding came from the tough things--like potty-training that seemed unending and nighttime walks at 3:30am for the first few months of puppyhood--because it was what he needed, and those needs of his became more important than my need for sleep.

And then enter kids.  Whoa Nellie.  What a way to rock a world and change you to the core.  I am truly a changed woman and glaring evidence presented itself today in the form of a call from Elliott's school.

I received a call informing me that Elliott had fallen backward off of a swing, bumping the back of her head.  Now at first, I thought, you know, it's nice to be informed  but I opted to just assume that things were fine and leave Elliott at school because, well, if she learns that her Mom will come whenever an injury occurs, I have a feeling a habit will very quickly follow. Something along the lines of a little boy who cried wolf.

But when I hung up the phone, the tears and self-doubt got the better of me.  I texted my husband, looking for a reassuring "you know she's fine", but he was in the midst of a meeting so the affirmation didn't come immediately.  So I sobbed a bit, feeling stuck in the thick of some grand parenting dilemma. First, she needs to learn that not every injury is a big deal and needs to be able to find comfort independently and learn to count on the others who are around her for support.  And she has a wonderful support group where she is--and learning to depend on them will serve her well in her confidence of being away from me.  On the other hand, what if something truly is wrong and she has a concussion and I just blew it off and I'm a terrible mother?

Needless to say, I was quite worked up.  I saw myself in the mirror, and said out loud, "You're not even the one who got hurt!"  And consequently, I thought, all of this ridiculousness needs to be shared.  And it needs a good illustration.  So I took a quick photo of my red-faced puffy-eyed exhausted self.  This, my friends, is why I don't even bother wearing make-up.

Now, I'm not a Mom who jumps up immediately when one of my kiddos gets hurt--it's not that I don't want to--I've just learned along the way that my reaction has a lot of bearing on their own reaction.  That's no grand secret to parents.  So, maybe I might even seem unsympathetic at times, which may be true.

But this time, I realized that the dilemma I faced had more to do with confidence as a parent.  Or, rather, lack of confidence.  I move fearlessly forward on the outside, but inside I'm quivering and letting self-doubt reign.  So many times when I make a choice, set a standard, make a demand or have to punish, the little voices eat at me telling me I'm "doing it wrong".  Sometimes the voices say I'm not tough enough--sometimes they tell me I'm too tough.  So much of modern wisdom tells us that we're psychologically damaging our children at every turn.  There are lists on Pinterest of things you should never say to your child, lists of the "proper" way to praise, and doggonit even though Freud is highly criticized, I still think about how every problem later in life can be traced back to the mother.

Parenthood is riddled with crippling doubt and insecurity.  And that's something I never expected.  I also never expected the swelling love-you-so-much-it-hurts feelings.  And when you mix all that together, it's...exhausting.

In the end, everything I do is for the betterment of my children.  Every rule I set, choice I make, stand I take--it's to get them where they need to be as productive and independent human beings. So, today I share and write.  Jumping up and getting Elliott and bringing her home wasn't the answer today--all signs pointed to the fact that she'd be perfectly fine.  Letting her "be" and letting out a sigh of relief and sharing my joys and frustrations as a mother seemed to be the route to go.

I can do this.  Phillipians 4:13.

I give them gold; they give me grief.

Every now and then, I'm plagued with delusions of adequacy.  And yes, I mean it just as I said it.  It's a phrase my husband coined (at least I think he did--or did it come from The Office?) and it comes to mind often.

I was feeling rather adequate last night when I made a mean veggie stir-fry over steamed brown rice and homemade (yes, homemade) potstickers.  On a weeknight.

Honestly, it's not entirely out of the ordinary that I put this much effort into dinner.  I cook pretty much every meal every day, but I'm going to admit that I often get discouraged when my efforts are thwarted at every turn.  Mostly by the two rugrats that I brought into this world.

As soon as the red bell peppers bit the wok and the aroma filled the air, Elliott was inspired to remind me that, she in fact, does not like bell peppers.  "Well, I forgot to buy mushrooms," I told her, subliminally letting her know that this could have been worse--much worse.  Within minutes of remembering that the kids would not be pacifists and just eat their dang dinner without complaint and that I might be in for it, James called letting me know that he'd be home late and that we should eat without him.  Well, at least he called, I told myself.

The girls and I sat down for a daddy-less dinner and immediately Bennett started putting plum pieces into her water cup.  And then pouring her water out.  (She does this so fast and under the radar, I swear.) Ultimately my kids are good eaters, so dinner was choked-down.  Bennett picked around the stir fry and ate only the carrots and broccoli, and Elliott told me at one point she didn't like vegetables and was going to throw up.  For the record, she still ate her entire meal, including a strip of red bell pepper, and I made sure to thank her for doing so.

But Moms, do you ever wish that people would just shut up, sit down, and sing your praises?  Is it too much to ask?  With as much as we do, it's often only the things we don't do or things that the family dislikes that are mentioned.  Know what I mean?  Sure you do.  Am I discouraged?  Well, today, maybe a bit.  But don't worry, just like you I'll keep trudging through and doing what's right, despite their complaints and ingratitude.

Never fear, tomorrow's a new day.  And maybe I'll just give up and thrill the kids with the culinary masterpiece that is PB&J.

When Mother's Day isn't happy.

With the recent celebration of Mother's day here in the U.S., I've been reflecting a lot on my catapult into motherhood.  It's hard for me to comprehend that I've been a mother for almost five years.  On one hand, I can't remember how it feels not to be a mom and on the other hand, it all feels so new.  I still feel like a novice who is treading water in this role that feels like uncharted territory.

In my five years of motherhood, I've learned and adapted, and most of all, I've changed.  Like completely and drastically changed to the core.

Source

I just remember how easy motherhood was before I had my first baby.  Moms, you know what I mean.  I had this idea that it wasn't so hard (and why was every mom I know exhausted and complaining?!) to mother a child.

And then I had one.

For anyone in the throes of postpartum depression, Mother's Day can be a terrible day.  Rather than being a day to celebrate who you are as a central figure in your child's life, it can really feel like a time that highlights your failures and lack of enthusiasm for your role.  I understand; I've been there.  The beautiful images of flowers and pastels that we're inundated with from every department store didn't jive with the darkness I once associated with the holiday.

Things just didn't "click" instantaneously for me in the motherhood department.  I didn't feel an immediate bond with my baby, I didn't like having someone whose needs were so intertwined with my body, and I just felt that every move I made was wrong.  I felt hopeless, and for every well-meaning person who commented on how precious my little baby was, I just sank further into the feeling of inadequacy.  Why didn't I see how precious my little one was? Why couldn't I handle an infant?  Why was it so hard for me when people with far fewer blessings and a lot less support could handle mothering without batting an eye? Why couldn't I just be happy?  Why did I want to leave it all behind?  Was it worth sticking around for?

I guess I still don't know the answers to most of those questions, but I DO know that motherhood was worth sticking around for.  I do know now, after baby #2, that even without the depression, extreme sleep-deprivation makes me a crazy-woman who cries all the time, and there's no way around that! I know that babies are not my forte, but I love love love being the mom of a four year old.  I know that a different birth experience the second time around made me happy.  I know that it was worth doing all over again. I know that there is no such thing as a perfect mother.  I learned that even on the best of days, the emotional baggage that a mother carries can be terribly burdensome.  I've learned that sometimes putting the baby books down and following your instincts is the way to go.  I've learned that I don't regret any of the hard work and sacrifices, as I'm (slowly) seeing the effort pay off.  I've learned that post-partum depression made me a better person because I'm more empathetic of others in their struggles.  I've learned that sharing my failings and inadequacies is often far more important than talking about my successes.

To all of you moms who are in the midst of what can be a very hard time, try to put a smile on your face and keep on chugging forward--sometimes that's a step in the right direction.  You're not alone in your struggle.  Share your feelings with someone you trust.  Sharing your feelings with a doctor may be helpful, too.

Hang in there, my friend.  There are better days ahead.