A Mom of "Just" Two

Almost two and a half years ago, I wrote a post entitled "A Mom of Just One." A few days after I published it, a dear, sweet friend chastised me a little and suggested I take out the "just" in the heading. "Mothering is hard with one and it's hard with more, " she wrote. "Don't discredit yourself. You're not a mom of "just one", you're a mom. And you're fabulous." 

Folks, this is the kind of constructive criticism that works. I don't think she knows how often I have come back to her words to comfort myself when the rocky paths of motherhood trip me up and my soul is covered in road rash. 

No, I didn't take "Just" out of the heading then. I left it as a reminder of a day when I just felt down and I had forgotten my purpose. I can't tell you how many times in the past two and a half years I have had to revise conversations with myself in my head...if I can just get through today...if I can get through today...if I can just be a little better...if I can be a little better...if I can just be a little more patient...if I can be a little more patient...

Here is what I've learned: just is one of those words that distances us not only from our true selves, but from God's plan for us. 

Oh, how this lesson hurts me sometimes.

When you include the word "just," it is almost like placing a deadline on your efforts. When you eliminate that word, there leaves a lot of wiggle room--and I like to think that is what God would like mothers like me to give ourselves.

I'm going to be a little raw and a lot real here, because I have some words and thoughts and feelings and emotions in me that I really need to barf into cyberspace.

Today Sly learned to say the word "baby." We were looking at a book I made for him for his first Christmas, and as soon as I opened to the first page, he pointed to a picture taken on his first day of life and said, clear as a bell, "baby!"

I hadn't coached him. We haven't really talked babies with him. This really is no great coincidence, as his sister totes around babies all day long, but it still took me by surprise, and instantly I was transported back to when his sister was that age and Scott and I were discussing family planning and after a frustrating day, I told him we couldn't even think about another pregnancy until she could pass three milestones: 1. Walk on her own; 2. Sleep through the night; and 3. Say the word "baby." 

For the first two years of her life, Kevin was a little behind developmentally. We knew this was because of her premature birth, and we didn't notice it very often, but now that we've had more than a year with a full-term baby, I can see the areas where she struggled because of those lost eight weeks in the womb. She walked at about the same age, but sleeping was and continues to be much more of a struggle with her than it ever has been for Sly. And talking? She said enough words for us to not worry, but she didn't communicate clearly until just after she turned two (and, quite frankly, she hasn't shut up since). 

So I didn't worry about her hitting the milestones too fast, because I knew by the time she did our family would be ready. 

It's been different this time around. After Sly was born, I was so deep into depression and health issues that Scott and I both knew that giving ourselves some extra space before we attempted a third (and possibly, probably last) pregnancy was going to be not only helpful, but necessary. What we didn't anticipate, however, was the strong stirrings of baby hunger that started this past fall. Every time we go to change our plan, we remember just how difficult and different the last two pregnancies have been and we pray about it and we know that, once again, the timing isn't right...yet.

That doesn't make it any easier when Kevin asks me almost daily when we can get another baby from the "hospidal" and talks about a sister as if she was a real person and informed me last week that there was a baby in my tummy (when I could clearly tell that there was not).

Or when nearly every one of my friends that was pregnant when I was pregnant with Sly is announcing a pregnancy.

A few weeks ago, Scott and I were talking about this baby subject (it comes up a lot), and he turned to me and said, "I bet if your health were different, we'd be close to having three kids by now."

Here's the thing that confuses me though: my kids drive me nuts. Why would I want more? 

Why, on days when I've had to sneak down to the basement twice for a handful of chocolate chips and my son has colored on the walls and my daughter can't stop the floors from jumping out and tripping her, do I tell myself I actually want another child?

Scott brought home a pizza for lunch at 11:30 am (yup, that kind of a day) and we were talking about our newest nephew (we've gotten two in the last 30 hours!) and I said to him, "I'm sorry we aren't at number five." What I really meant was: I'm sorry we will probably never even get to number five."

And he looked at me with that handsome smile of his, pulled me close so that my cheek was resting on his worn gray fleece jacket, and said with absolute certainty something along the lines of, "Sweetheart, I'm just fine with that."

So, all day I've been telling myself that I'm fine being a mother of just two. 

And then, thanks to Savanah, I remind myself that I'm not just a mother of just two...I AM a mother of two children. And motherhood is hard with one, with two, with five or with six, If you ask any woman who has struggled or is struggling with infertility, she will tell you that motherhood is hard  even when you are just trying to have children. 

During this past conference, Elder Jeffrey R. Holland spoke of the verbs of motherhood: to bear, lift, carry, deliver...and how the roles mothers play in our earthly lives are similar to the role Christ plays in our eternal life. The talk was beautiful--almost too beautiful, and I thought, "surely a sinner like me doesn't deserve those songs of praise!" 

But then he ended his talk with these words, and I needed them just as much in October as I need them today (and I will probably need them in a month, a year, ten years from now):

"To all of our mothers everywhere, past, present, or future, I say, 'Thank you. Thank you for giving birth, for shaping souls, for forming character, and for demonstrating the pure love of Christ.' To Mother Eve, to Sarah (a mother of one child!), Rebekah (she only had two children!), and Rachel (again, two children!), to Mary of Nazareth, and to a Mother in Heaven, I say, 'Thank you for your crucial role in fulfilling the purposes of eternity.' To all mothers in every circumstance, including those who struggle—and all will—I say, 'Be peaceful. Believe in God and yourself. You are doing better than you think you are. In fact, you are saviors on Mount Zion,¹³ and like the Master you follow, your love never faileth.’¹⁴ I can pay no higher tribute to anyone."

His words aren't just to the mothers whose families are complete, or those who are up into the 3 to 5 times tables when it comes to "multiplying and replenishing the earth." They are to those who have never been able to have children, to those who are trying, to those who are pregnant, to those who have birthed stillborn babies or suffered miscarriages, to those with one child, and to those, like me, who have children but want more and are wondering if my best efforts and childbearing and childrearing are possibly enough to earn me that title of Mother. 

And he never once uses the word just, though I have used it 20 times in this post alone.

So, right at this moment, I may have to take his word for it that I am doing better than I think I am, and that I can find peace in my role at this moment, and that though my love for my children may falter on some days, when it comes right down to it, that love never faileth.