Motherhood Monologues #11: Allow

This year I have tried harder to allow myself "me" time--much to the annoyance of my children and husband, who sometimes have to find ways to entertain themselves. The thing is, I can't be their everything all the time--even when that only amounts to watching a basketball game I don't care about or sitting next to my daughter while she colors. In order for me to be the best mother and wife I can be, sometimes I have to ignore the crying and the annoyed sighs and finish my book, write on my blog, or create art. If I don't take the time to breathe, then I will suffocate in the constant tugging and pulling that is being a wife and a mother.

Speaking in terms of "allowance," I think I need to give myself more time and space to do the things that relieve my stress and make me happy WITHOUT punishing myself for it by carrying around the guilt of "but I could have been doing something for them."

Motherhood Monologues #10: Inspire

Before I was a mother. Did those days exist? Before I was a mother. Hmm,

Before I was a mother, I used to play the "someday" game: Someday I will get married. Someday I will publish a book. Someday I'll be finished with school. Someday I'll travel the world. Someday I'll have children. Someday...

The antonym, or opposite, of "someday" is never. "Never" is not a game mothers are allowed to play. Once there is a fuzzy gray bean on that ultrasound machine screen, or even two pink lines on that plastic stick, you are a mother and you will be one forever, regardless of what happens to that bean. A mother carries a child for longer than nine months--a mother carries a child in her heart forever.

Sometimes I catch myself playing the "once upon a time" game. The "once upon a time" game propels me to the past, just as the "someday game" ponders on the future. Once upon a time my brain functioned. Once upon a time I could recall lyrics to more than just Disney movies and PBS kid shows. Once upon a time, I showered every day. Once upon a time I got butterflies when I saw his name on the caller ID...

...actually that last one is a "right now" game. I'm lucky that way.

So I guess this is what it boils down to: in the past, I was inspired by the future. In the future, I'm inspired by the past (aka, someday my brain will work again!). In the present, I should spend a little less time daydreaming and a little more time living the dream.

Motherhood Monologues #9: Rhythm

First of all, I can't even spell the word rythm rhythym rythym rhythm without help from spell check.

Secondly, tempo has never exactly been my strong suite. When I was a child taking piano lessons, it took me three years to learn eighth notes because my teacher refused to move on until I learned how to count. In the end my family moved on, I got a new teacher, and eighth notes opened a whole new world of music that I played by my own rhythm.

No metronomes for me.

And so it makes sense, then, that my family doesn't live by a specific schedule. We live by a routine, which allows for more flexibility in our days. We follow a pattern instead of a clock, meaning that sometimes naptime happens at noon and sometimes it happens at two and sometimes it doesn't happen at all, and that's okay. My children know the order of our days and I've learned to follow their signals instead of the beats set forth by parenting books and blogs.

After all, I learned to play for myself, not so someone else could sing along.

Motherhood Monologues #8: Clearing Space

My list of mental clutter (for today, anyway):
1. What's for dinner?
2. How many ways is my son going to unwittingly try to harm himself today?
3. All the characters and songs from Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood
4. Facebook. All the posts. Or at least the 90% of them that pertain in absolutely no way to my life.
5. My ongoing list of projects that I haven't started
6. OH LOOK! A BOOK!
7. I should really go pull some weeds.
8. I should really exercise.
9. Everyone looks better with a little chub, right?
10. How many days until the weekend, again?
11. Every worry of every possible thing that could ever go wrong
12. All the mommy guilt. I gave her the blue bowl for breakfast and lied when I said there wasn't a clean purple one.
13. How is it possible for one little boy to love string cheese that much?
14. OH LOOK! ANOTHER BOOK!
15. The people at V-Tech should be shot for making the most annoying toys on the planet.
16. He knows the word "kickoff!" I must be doing something right!
17. "If you have to go potty, stop and go right away!"
18. Laundry. I should probably start some. And fold the four loads I did last week.
19. How many mini Cadbury eggs can I eat in one day without feeling guilty? I shared one with my daughter after lunch. Surely that means I can eat five more.
20. Tomorrow. Everything tomorrow.

What I need to do to reclaim that mental space:
1. Sleep.
2. Read.
3. Breathe.
Not necessarily in that order.

Motherhood Monologues #7: Relax

"Mom, let's be-lax," my daughter says as she turns off the light and then climbs onto the couch, oblivious to the fact that I am holding a book in my hands and can no longer see, nor do I really want to watch Frozen for the gazillionth time.

But still, as I set my book aside and cuddle her next to me, wrapping her Olaf blanket around the two of us, I realize that these "belaxing" moments are important for us both. It isn't about the show, or the amount of light in the room, it is about the time we spend cuddling together doing a similar activity. Although these times are rarely relaxing for me, they are relaxing for her, and that's enough for me.

I can always relax later, right?

Motherhood Monologues #6: Grow

I always thought that I would feel like a grown-up when I got married, bought a car, had children, graduated from college, bought a house...you know, those big "adulting" things.

But, after having done all of those things, I am here to tell you that the day I felt grown up was the day I bought a swiffer.

That's right. A swiffer.

Because nothing says "I'm getting older" like cleaning supplies, right?

Motherhood Monologues #5: Honesty

There are very few secrets in my life, and most of the secrets I guard are not, in fact, my secrets, but the secrets of others.  Thus it becomes a hard task to break open the honesty box and pull out a story.

Pregnancy is hard for every woman. That's a fact. It's also a fact that it is hard in different ways for every woman. I feel like I've tried to be honest with my motherhood experiences, but I know that there are times that I need to open myself up more in order to be entirely truthful.

My two pregnancies have been very different. During the first one, I was nauseated constantly. I had never felt so physically ill in my life. During my second pregnancy, I was depressed constantly. I have never felt so mentally and emotionally ill in my life. Although I have struggled with anxiety since I was a child, that was the first time that I was able to recognize the dark clouds hanging over my head for what they were: depression.

I felt so low, so tired, so worthless. And though I was meeting with doctors on a bi-weekly basis, not once did any of them ask about my mental health. Perhaps I would not have shared if they had, but part of me knows all I was waiting for was someone to extend a hand to my drowning self and say, "it's okay. There is help."

That hand didn't come until a few hours before we were discharged from the hospital, my infant son in my arms. A blonde nurse dressed in maroon scrubs looked over the survey I'd filled out and with kindness and understanding in her eyes told me that my answers indicated I was at risk for postpartum depression. "It's nothing to mess with," she said. "I've been there. You don't need to be embarrassed." She encouraged me to ask for help, and six difficult, tear-filled weeks later, I finally did what I should have done years before.

Although my son is well past the baby stage, I still struggle. Daily. Medication helps heal my mental state, but not as much as knowing someone cares and that I am not alone. A hug, a text, an email, an honest conversation with a friend--these are the things that have the power to heal emotionally.