As yet another Mother’s Day approaches I’ve been thinking about my place in this institution.
No, my nipples are no longer cracked and bleeding. And I sleep pretty well at night, thank you very much. I haven’t changed a diaper in over a year and my children even wipe themselves when they use the potty (most of the time). But is motherhood easier now that I’ve been a mom for nearly six years? No f*$king way.
When you have a baby, people tell you so many things. Some (nay, most) is garbage and should be ignored, but occasionally you hear something that sticks with you; something you cling to for dear life, hoping and praying it’s true. When my firstborn was an infant and I was struggling with the changes motherhood brings and wondering when I’d get my old life back (ha!), my body back, my still-very-young marriage back, not to mention how I’d balance a demanding professional life with the obligations of my little family, a colleague said, “don’t worry; the older they get, the easier it gets.” I clung to that notion for dear life. I still cling to that notion. This idea was a significant factor in wanting to have a second child quickly. But that well meaning colleague can kiss my a*s because, for me, it has not gotten easier. For me, it has gotten more challenging by the year.
My kindergartener regularly scowls at me, rolls her eyes and retorts with an exasperated “I know that!” when I remind her of a homework assignment or that she has ballet that afternoon. My three and a half year old has a way of screeching at the top of her lungs when she decides she’d rather have oatmeal for breakfast instead of the scrambled eggs and strawberries I’ve set out for her. And don’t get me started on teeth brushing or the “Why-Can’t-We-Just-Get-Out-The-Door-On-Time!?!” weekday morning wars.
But, babies! Their warm furnace-like bodies nuzzled close to you in the middle of the night once you finally master side-lying nursing. Their sweet baby giggles when they see themselves in a mirror. And the first time they’re able to hold that rattle you’ve been handing them since they were 3 weeks old. Babies. Sigh. There were few moments I didn’t know what to do to keep my babies happy; I long for the simplicity of that time. Sometimes, after a particularly challenging day, I lie in bed and dream about how wonderful it would be to have a new baby in the house. A snuggly, cuddly, warm, gooey baby who doesn’t roll her eyes or demand oatmeal with an ear ringing scream. But, just ask my husband, who is certain on this point: it is never going to happen. Reluctantly, I agree. My baby days are over, and it’s probably the right decision. The strollers have been given away and the disassembled crib is gathering dust in a basement corner, the last beacon of hope that someday, someday, maybe…
I don’t want to seem ungrateful. My daughters, as much as they challenge me now (despite the fact that they were wickedly easy babies), are exactly the smart, weird, quirky, strong-willed, kind, empathetic, quick-witted, hilarious, emotional creatures I have always wanted to parent. But now that the basic “keep them alive” duties of early parenthood are lessening, the “help them become good people” back-breaking work begins. The responsibility of parenting these burgeoning citizens of the world can be overwhelming. I replay our days nearly nightly to figure out how I can do better, work harder, be more present. This boundary pushing that my kindergartener is doing right now: how do I help her through it, maintaining control while still allowing her some of the independence she’s craving? Do I shuttle my three year old back to her bed when she has a bad dream or do I cuddle her next to me and make sure she feels safe? Why was I so short-tempered? Did I yell too loudly? Why do they test me more than their father? Is it because I’m too rigid? Too lax? Do I expect too much? Too little?
And then, I’m startled out of my hamster wheel of doubt by a little voice at the top of the stairs (why aren’t they asleep!?!?!). “Mommy? I have to tell you something. If I get scared in the night, I’ll just come down to you. Ok?” So I drag my weary Mommy-self up the steps, scoop up the littler one in a bear hug, and assure her that it’s a mommy’s job to cuddle her “babies” when they’re scared. As I walk her back to her room, I hear my kindergartener chattering to herself in Spanish and organizing baubles on her pillow (why aren’t they asleep!?!?). I gently remind them that it’s way past bedtime. I get the requisite “I know that,” from the top bunk as she hands over her treasures, and the screechy “I’m not tired!!” from the bottom bunk. I kiss them (again), turn the reading lamp off (again), and we recite our bedtime script one more once as I traverse back down the stairs.
“Girls, I love you to the moon and back.”
In unison, “I love you to the sun and back.”
“I love you to Mars and back.”
“I love you to the stars and back.”
Altogether now, “Sleep tight.”
Ok, ok, a newborn can’t give you that kind of sweetness. So, I’ll close my eyes, click my heels together three times and remind myself to enjoy these little moments of kairos while I can. And, maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will be the day that it really does get easier.
A Child Grows in Philly Editor Mollie Michel is a South Philly resident and a Philadelphia public school parent. A recovering non-profit professional, Mollie is also an experienced birth doula, Certified Lactation Counselor, and the mom of two awesome girls and a sweet pit bull named Princess Cleopatra. In her spare time, she is usually trying to figure out how Pinterest works, training for a(nother) half-marathon with her dog at her side, or simply trying to keep up with her increasingly wily daughters.