motherhood

The Proverbial Itch

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““That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day.” ~Charles Dickens

This happens every few years.  The proverbial itch.  That feeling I get when I can’t sit still.  It’s usually proceeded by a great life change.  Two years ago it was the death of my father.  Now, the birth of my newest child.  With my father it had a lot to do with me rebelling against him, his death, and the need to prove that I am still very much alive, even when he was not.  It was a need to prove that in a great upheaval, a great depression, I could still be happy.  I felt the need to break free, go crazy, and prove that there was still “something” left in me.

But now, I’m starting to get that feeling again.  I look at my daughter as I hold her in my arms at just 17 days old and think that I have never loved anything in my entire life as much as I’ve love her.  And for someone like me, this can be very scary because when you love something that much, you now have something to lose.

Just the other day I was walking around my neighborhood and I couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that spring seemed to bloom overnight.  The trees seemed to be bare one morning and then alive with light and color the very next day.  And I found this to be the way I love my daughter.  Unsure during my entire pregnancy if having more children was the “responsible” thing to do and then within minutes of her being born not being able to imagine living my life without her in it.

But these are scary feelings and sometimes they seem stronger than I am actually able to process within myself…hence the itching feeling, hence the need to break out of my own skin and shed the uncomfortable feeling of being unable to process so much.

The last time I made choices, and while many of them weren’t very wise choices, they brought me to the place where I am today.  I’m stronger than I once was, I’ve discovered my love for running, I have an amazing new daughter, and I’m the most confident I’ve ever been.  I learned a lot about myself during this time of upheaval, most importantly, to take myself seriously and not let anyone be in charge of my happiness.

But two years ago I did it all wrong. Two years ago I decided that the problem wasn’t me and that it was everything else around me.  At that time running away seemed like the only option.  And while I didn’t run away per se, I left my life behind for a while and jumped head first into something different and something unknown.  I assumed that this would help me feel better.  I assumed that this is what I needed to survive.  But what I realized was just the opposite.  Running away from my life nearly broke me.  I became a shell of the person I was and it took too long to rebuild myself.  I don’t have that kind of time anymore.

Now, things are different.  The main difference, of course, was before I wanted to run away and now I simply want to run.  I’m looking forward to being able to run again.  To getting out there are pounding the pavement and smashing my problems as I work through them.  Maybe this time the itchyness is a good thing; it’s a desire to get back to work on my and continue to my journey to becoming the best person I can be.

And that’s exactly what I’ll do – for me, for my family, and now for my amazing little daughter; the answer I never new I was looking for.

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Non-Fiction

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“Outside the windows the day was bright: golden sunshine, blue sky, pleasant wind . . . I wanted to punch the happy day in the face, grab it by the hair, and beat it until it told me what the hell it was so happy about.”  ~Ilona Andrews

No fewer than ten people have said to me an amalgamation of the following terms:

  • “I can’t believe you just had a baby.”
  • “You look great for just having a baby.”
    “You have so much energy! I wish I could have been like that after giving birth.”
  • “You seem so relaxed like you are on vacation.”
  • “You make it seem so easy.”

After each one of these observances I smile, laugh a little laugh, and state that it’s just the whole “not being at work that agrees with me”.  True, I’ve been walking every day.  True, I’ve lost 20 pounds and am actually under my pre-baby weight.  True, my baby seems to do a great job for sleeping long stretches at night.

But these are the observations from the Monet point of view.  From far away it seems like my life after a newborn is a masterpiece.  Rich in color, vibrant in activity, something you can hang on a mantel and then marvel.  It seems like by kid #3 I have it figured out and “baby” motherhood, and “mom of three” motherhood is agreeing with me whole-heartedly.

But here’s the trick: go up to that painting and stand so that your nose is almost touching.  Now it’s a mess; a bunch of blurred lines, overly textured colors, haphazard in appearance and technique and that is more of a representation of my life these day.  When you look up close you’ll see that I’ve been walking everyday because I don’t always have access to a car to pick the kids up from school (luckily we live close) and also because I need running the way some people need prozac, and since I can’t run (and don’t have prozac), I walk.  I lost 20 pounds which happens to be all my baby weight and then some because during my pregnancy I was so stressed and had terrible heartburn so I never ate enough and therefor didn’t gain any weight (which, contrary to what some might think, is not a good thing).  And the reason my baby sleeps so well?  According to her doctor it’s because she’s not eating enough so her body is putting her in a hibernation mode to conserve energy.

So today, I woke my baby up after 3 hours for her 3rd feeding after which she promptly fell asleep and while I should have been cleaning the house, or doing laundry, or any of the other 100 things that needed to get done while the kids were at school, I cried.  Or if I’m being really honest I stuffed my face full of Ritz crackers and cried because I felt like a terrible mother (and then I felt terrible for eating the Ritz crackers).

So not only was I feeling terrible, but then both the other littles were having trouble with their “listening ears” and I had to yell which made me feel even more terrible.  And the icing on the cake (wait, there’s cake?) was the full on melt down I had at dinner when our rental company called and said they were showing our house tomorrow, which means I had to scrub it clean tonight.

But it’s 3 hours later now.  All the kids are in bed and asleep.  I just ate a lovely chocolate bar and a spoon full of peanut butter.  And perspective is starting to creep back in to my subconscious.  In a few short hours it will be a new day and I’ll get the chance to start over again.

Sometimes that’s really all we have to hold on to.

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A step back

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“Slow down, you move too fast.
You got to make the morning last.” ~Simon & Garfunkel

I woke up this morning to feed the baby around 4.  Once she was finished and feel back to sleep I was awake for awhile.  I was literally itching to run.  I was calculating if I should or shouldn’t throw my running shoes on for a 4 am walk/shuffle around the block.  That way I would have tons of time to do other stuff during the day.  I know I shouldn’t be running.  I know I should be taking it easy so I can fully heal.  And here I am, making bargains in my head at 4 am about how to manage everything I wanted to accomplish on my ever growing mental list.

I didn’t think I’d get to this place.  I thought I was going to do everything differently.  Right now I’m having a tough time. Normally it’s quite hard for me to admit that.  I don’t like others to see my weaknesses and I usually feel that if you don’t admit to them, they don’t exist.  But here I am admitting this for the whole world (or the 15 people who read my blog) to see.  I am having a tough time.

Surprisingly enough, I’m not having a tough time with the whole “parenting three kids” thing.  Once you have two VERY active boys, adding a third child, especially a calm, almost always sleeping baby into the mix really doesn’t change much.  I’ve found with a little finagling I can balance most of what everyone needs, though maybe not what they all “want”.  Sure, I have a husband at home who is helping and the two oldest are in school at least part time.  But for the most part we are prattling along just as we always did, maybe just a little more tired than we were before.

What I’m having a tough time with is stepping back and simply taking time.  For the first time, I actually have time.  Time to sit back and relax.  Time to heal.  Time to think.  Time to simply enjoy the smaller and larger things in life.  And what am I doing with this time instead?  Planning.  Making lists.  Checking my work e-mail.  Replying to other emails. Organizing and cleaning.  Mentally and physically exhausting myself because I seem to think EVERYTHING needs to be done TODAY.  I feel like if I do it today, I won’t need to think about it tomorrow. I’ll have time to relax tomorrow.  I’ll have time to give more individualized attention tomorrow.  But you know what happens?  A new task or plan pops up for tomorrow and I am right back to square one, thinking that I’ll always have tomorrow to play catch up on the more important things.

Part of it is that I have no idea what to do with free time.  It’s not that I never have it.  Having “grandparents” who love my kids and take them all the time gives me loads of free time.  But that free time is usually marred by the guilt I feel.  Guilt about having a slightly messy household.  Guilt about maybe not having my lesson plans done months in advance or having some new game or activity created for my students.  Guilt about not spending every minute of the day involved with my kids.  Guilt thinking that I should always be doing “more” than I currently am, whether that be at home, work, or among friends and family.

I seem to live by my guilt.  And I’m pretty sure if I don’t do something about it I’m going to die by it as well.  I’ve got to learn to slow down.  I’ve got to learn how to enjoy the smaller things.  I’ve got to learn to let go…especially of the overly high expectations I have of myself.  Maternity leave, while it’s just begun, will be over before I know it and I don’t want to look back and regret not spending more time with the kids, or relaxing, or just being.  I don’t want to look back and realize that the work e-mails could have waited.  The laundry could have waited an hour before putting it away.  Who cares that there are 3 dirty dishes in the sink if it means I spent a little more quality time with the people in my family, or even just some quality time with myself.

I need to breathe, heal, and relax.  I need to take this time to work ON me FOR my family.

And right now, I need to shut this laptop and go play a video game with my 4 year old who is patiently waiting for some extra time with his mom.

To my darling daughter on departure day

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“…you are my rainbow to keep. My eyes will always be watching you; never will I lose sight of you.” ~Vesna Bailey

Yesterday is the day they found the Boston Marathon bomber guilty of all 30 counts.  Yesterday was also the day that another African American man was shot and killed by an on duty police officer.  And today is the day I brought my tiny, newborn daughter home from the hospital.  While these events don’t seem connected in any way they most certainly are because I am bringing a new life into a world where people bomb other people or simply hurt other people on purpose…and that scares the ever living daylights out of me.

I used to joke, after repeatedly watching the movie Baby Boom (I just KNOW Diane Keaton and I could be BFF), that all I wanted to do is buy a giant house in the country, homeschool my kids, and become a blueberry farmer.  And with each passing day this urge continues to grow and get stronger and stronger. Because all I want to do is keep my kids safe, and whole, and seemingly pure and these days  it feels like an exceedingly daunting and impossible task.  But as I sit here and lament over the fact I can’t keep them safe from everyone else in the world, I know that what I can do is TEACH them and be the most positive role model I can be.

So, to my darling daughter, on the day I bring you home from the hospital, and into the “big, bad world” what I want to tell you is this:

The world is scary, I’m not going to lie.  There are people in it who live just to hurt others.  Some of them do it physically.  Some mentally.  Some in other ways.  There is no doubt in my mind that you will encounter someone like these people at one point or another.  It may be in the mean girl who pushes you off the monkey bars when you’re four.  Or in the boy that starts a rumor about you in high school.  Or in the friend that constantly puts you down to make herself feel better.  There are times you will get hurt for no reason at all, simply because you are in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But listen closely, dear one, for this is important.  None of these instances are who you are.  None of theses people will define your character.  You are better than that.  I’ve only know you for two days (or 10 months and 2 days) and I already know how smart, amazing, sweet, loving, and happy you are.  And I hope you never let anyone make you feel less than that.

I hope that in our time together I am able to teach you not only how to stand up for others, but also how to stand up for yourself. That you never DESERVE to be treated with anything other than dignity and respect from anyone.  I hope I am able to instill in you an idealism that no matter how small, you are still able to change the world and I hope you are able to hold on to that idealism even on the worst days.  I hope I am able to teach you to see and appreciate the tiny joys in life: a ladybug, a sunny day, a favorite book, a tender moment.  I hope that even though the world can be dark and scary, you can learn to see the light and joy in some aspect of it every day.

And no matter what, I hope you know that things may get bad and things may get dark, but there will always be one person in this world who loves you more than anything else, more than anyone else and sometimes that’s really all you need to keep going.

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Yesterday was a good day.

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“Running is like life, it’s a long journey, but well worth it.” ~Unknown

I needed yesterday. More than you know.

I woke up at 3:30 in the morning with the lovely pregnancy insomnia that has plagued me for weeks. It was also our first day without a delay or a day off in a week so the thought of working a full day was already tiring. When I couldn’t get back to sleep I decided just to get up and go for a run.

I hadn’t run in over a month and the entire month I felt off. February was rough. I had an extremely short temper with pretty much anyone that came in contact with me. I was angry, hostile, bitter. I felt like I hated the world. I felt like a terrible parent, a terrible wife, and a terrible friend. I blamed these feelings on the pregnancy and on the hormones, but really, what I think happened was that I just didn’t run.

Running has always been my therapy. As a kindergarten teacher and a mother, I don’t get much time to myself. Add pregnancy into the mix and most of the time that I had to myself had me being way too tired to do anything anyway.

I could tell you why I stopped for a month. I could tell you it was because the doctor recommended it (which she did, a least until 36 weeks), or because I was too busy, or because I was too tired. And for the most part all of these things are true. But the real reasons I stopped are far more shallow. I didn’t have a real goal to work towards to I slacked off. I got tired of seeing my mile times increase and increase some more. I got tired of seeing the scale go up incrementally.

So I stopped. I figured what’s the point. I would just sit around for the next few weeks and be lazy and grow a baby.

But what I’ve found is that I can’t stop. I need running. Like I need air. Like I need food. Like I need my family. I need it like my life depends on it. Because for all intents and purposes, it does.

So yesterday was important. Yes, I was more tired and sore than normal. But it didn’t matter. For the first time in a month I felt like me again. I felt positive. I felt ready. I felt alive.

So it’s time. It’s time to stop worrying about my time. It’s time to stopping thinking, period, and just run. Because you never know what amazing things lie on the horizon. And I know whatever they are, I can conquer them with my eyes wide open and my heart ready for anything.

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Starting Over Yet Again

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“Life is tough, but so are you.” ~Unknown

Looking through old items on my phone a few days ago reminded me of just how tough last February was.  I had just picked back up with my running and wasn’t impressed with my progress.  It was very snowy and the kids and I were going stir crazy.  I was an overly emotional wreck, which I chalked up to nothing and everything all at once.

Flash forward to this February…which hasn’t been much better.  It’s been a month since I’ve run because I’m finding it close to impossible to run in the late stages of pregnancy.  The weather hasn’t been that great and while I am enjoying my extra time off, I’m not enjoying my car continually needing work and the below zero temperatures that have kept us all indoors.  And once again I have been an overall emotionally wreck, which, I wish I could chalk up to being super pregnant, but unfortunately I know that’s not the whole reason.

But now it’s a new month.  With March comes the promise of sunnier days, *slightly* warmer weather, baby delivery, and simply a time of rejuvenation and starting over yet again.

I constantly feel like I’m starting over could be considered both a blessing and a curse.  I have to keep starting over because in reality I keep failing.  Promises and goals not kept, excuses constantly given, deals made and broken are all keeping me right where I deserve to be.  I feel like I’m in a whole and I can can totally figure out how to get myself out of it, but I just don’t do it.  I know it’s going to take work and discipline and self-sacrifice, but I am never consistent with any of these things.

On top of it all I really haven’t been able to run and it’s killing me.  I use running as a form of therapy.  It’s time for me to work out the problems in my head.  It’s time for me to be alone (which is close to impossible when you are a Kindergarten teacher with a stay at home husband and two small children).  It’s just a time for me to be completely and utterly myself and I haven’t had that in a while.

I understand, though, that the ability to start over is a blessing.  Each new day gives me a chance to try my hand at my goals one more time.  And each day I wake up thinking this is the day I’m going to make it work.

I need to stop making excuses.  I need to readjust my goals until this baby comes.  I need to readjust my goals period.

What do I want to accomplish?  Who do I want to be?  What do I want to do?

I need to process.  I need time to think.  I need to run.

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So Ready…

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“I’m waiting for my real life to begin” ~Colin Hay

In just a few short weeks I will be changing over from the world of two small kids to three small kids.  Most people wouldn’t want to speed this up, relishing in the smaller family world for just a few more moments.  But for me, this couldn’t be further from the the truth.  It’s not so much that I’m ready to be stretched thinner than I already I.  It’s simply that I’m ready to get my life back.

I get it, really I do.  I’ve had my fair share of fertility problems, more than I care to even admit.  I understand that being pregnant is a gift that not everyone gets to receive.  But that doesn’t mean I like it.  I can’t wait for baby #3 to get here.  I love feelings her kick and move.  I’m ready for her to become the piece to put our family puzzle together.

But for the most part I really hate being pregnant.  And I can guarantee you this is not about the wine.  I hate not being able to eat certain foods simply because they *might* cause some sort of harm.  I hate choking down my three pre-natal vitamins every day (and therefor become horribly constipated), I hate not being able to sleep more than an hour at a time because I need to pee, or simply roll over relieving some pressure on my hips, I hate not being able to wear real pants, I hate being tired ALL THE TIME, I hate not being able to run, I hate not being able to breathe, I hate not being able to take real medicine when I’m sick, and I really hate waiting.

I’m ready to get my life back together.

I’m ready to get this party started because I can already tell it’s going to be a hell of a good time.

Clarity

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“The beauty is that through disappointment you can gain clarity, and with clarity comes conviction and true originality.” ~Conan O’Brien

Do you have have those moments of clarity, you know, the ones where you are pretty sure you understand everything within the universe in an uncomplicated way?

Very rarely do these creep up on me, but today one did.  And what my moment of clarity brought me is the realization that I pretty much suck in all aspects of my world these days.  I’m a horrible wife, an exasperated mother, a bored teacher, and an unmotivated runner.  All I seem to want to do these days is eat, read, watch TV, and sleep and I rarely get the time to do any of these things.

I realize I’m causing a great disservice to most of the people around me.  I know what I should be doing, how I should be reacting, the effort I should be making and yet, I don’t (or I can’t).

Every night I make these grandiose plans and promises to myself that I’m going to do better, be better.  I’m not going to reply to every word spoken to me with sarcasm and contempt.  I’m not going to yell.  I am going to try my hardest.  I am going to put forth at least a little effort.  I’m going to put down the <insert food here> and get up and MOVE.

And yet, no matter how many times I have made these promises to myself, I have yet to keep them.  I wake up in a mood because of sheer exhaustion or because I simply don’t want to go to work and I immediately take it out on those around me.  No one is safe.  I always want it to be different, but it never is.

But the miracle is that every night I get to make that promise to myself and every morning I get to try and keep it.

Here we go…

Hello. My name is quitter.

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“Life is painful and messed up. It gets complicated at the worst of times, and sometimes you have no idea where to go or what to do. Lots of times people just let themselves get lost, dropping into a wide open, huge abyss. But that’s why we have to keep trying. We have to push through all that hurts us, work past all our memories that are haunting us. Sometimes the things that hurt us are the things that make us strongest. A life without experience, in my opinion, is no life at all. And that’s why I tell everyone that, even when it hurts, never stop yourself from living.” ~Alysha Speer

I’m feeling lost and have no idea how I am going to find myself again. I feel transient, almost as if I am actually just on the outside looking in. I used to feel so put together. I used to feel like I had a purpose. I used to feel whole. I used to know who I was and now I simply have no clue.

I’ve been feeling this way for a while.  The more I try to think about why I’m feeling this way, the more confused and lost I feel.

It may have to do with being pregnant.   I have to admit, when I first found out I was pregnant I wasn’t thrilled. I had recently found running and had based some of my identity on being a runner (albeit a slow one). I was really worried about how this was going to affect my running. I realize it didn’t have to, but I was so worried about the beginning stages of pregnancy, that I let it. I have almost completely stopped running and without the running my mood has quickly gone sour. I am complaining more. Quitting more. Whining more. Being pessimistic more. And I hate it.

I’ve been letting my role of “mother” take away from all the other roles I love to play: runner, inspirer, friend, wife. And the worst part is, I’ve been letting myself let myself. Yet, when I try to reverse this, when I try to get back to the way things are, I can’t.

It’s not that I don’t know how. I know exactly the steps I need to take. I know exactly what I need to do. But I don’t do it. I make plans. Then I can’t take the steps.

I know I need to get up and run. I just need to do it. And then my alarm goes off in the morning and I go back to sleep, knowing full well that I am going to hate myself in the morning, that I’m going to feel crappier than if I missed that hour of sleep due to running.

Just yesterday, my 3 year old asked me why I don’t go running anymore. Even he has noticed. Even he has seen the effects of my slacked attitude. It’s not just me. It’s not me being oversensitive to the situation.

I feel discouraged because I am so much slower now than I was. I felt like quitting when I realized I wasn’t getting faster, but slower instead. And instead of continually getting slower, I let myself quit altogether.

When I try to explain this to people, I usually get the “It’s ok, because you’re pregnant.” So I sigh and am inwardly happy that I have a “legitimate” excuse that I can use instead of what the real reason is: “I’m scared and I don’t want to fail more than I have so I simply won’t try.” I’m letting pregnancy be my excuse because it’s there, not because it’s the truth. I’m letting it be my excuse because to the outside world, it’s one that is allowed.

But to me it’s not. I’ve come to far to let this go. I’ve overcome heartache and muscle aches and sore everything and yet still kept going. I don’t want to resent my newest little because I quit and blamed it on being pregnant with her.  I don’t want this to be who I am to her and the rest of my family. I don’t want this to be who I am, period.

I need to remember who I was. I need to find me again.

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Why I (kinda) hate mother’s day

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“God could not be everywhere, and therefor he made mothers.” ~Rudyard Kipling

I feel like I should start this post with a disclaimer.  We celebrate mother’s day in my household.  I make my husband buy gifts for his mom and I make my kids buy gifts for their “grammy”.  While I don’t actually expect gifts, I do hope that everyone could just be a little nicer, quieter and cleaner just for this one day.  With that being said I am not a very big fan of this holiday, and I’m a mom.

Some might say the reason I don’t really get into mother’s day is that I must not have a very good relationship with my mother.  And that’s the truth, I don’t.  My mom always had other things to worry about, more pressing engagements to attend to, more important life moments to get involved in.  I’m pretty sure I was resented for being born and messing up the life she could have had.  I also wasn’t a very good child, or a very pretty child, or really that extraordinary in any way.  I tended to blend in and shy away from attention while my mom tried her best to shine.  My brothers, all of them, were always closer to her.  Maybe they understood her better than I could.  Maybe she understood them better than she could me.

This is not the part where you feel sorry for me.  Everything that happened to me growing up shaped who I am today.  Sometimes people have personality conflicts, and while we think there is always a bong between a mother and a child that no one can break, it’s not true.  I wasn’t abused, or neglected, or mistreated by my mother.  I had a roof over my head, clothes on my back, and someone always there to sign a permission slip when I needed.  We simply never found a way to connect and that’s ok.  We were so far opposite that we couldn’t even attract.  Quite honestly, though, all of this is besides the point.

Now, all these experiences with my mom have completely shaped the way I “mother” my two little ones.  I make sure I make them a priority while I still have a semblance of a life.  I try to get interested in the things they are (I can name every Transformer and Thomas character) and share my interests with them.  No matter if it’s been a bad day, good day, frustrating day, relaxing day, there is never a doubt that I love them and they love me.  Being a mother is the thing I am the most proud of and my most important job.  I work very hard to try and be the best mother I can be every day of my kid’s lives.  Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn’t, but I never stop putting forth the effort.

That brings me, in a very long winded way, to why I’m not a fan of Mother’s Day.  Plain and simple, we should not choose to focus on the work and dedication of mothers on one day during the year.  Mothers should be revered, loved, cherished every day.  Mother’s don’t get a day off, not from the worry, love, guilt, frustration, exhaustion, and stickiness that is parenting.  Not even on mother’s day.

I sometimes feel like giving mothers just a day (or dads just a day, or women and African Americans just a month) it gives us a reason to slack off the rest of the year.  Now, this doesn’t mean that I don’t love the beaded necklace my 4 year old made me, or don’t kinda expect breakfast in bed tomorrow, but why only this day that these things happen?  Then again, I am a crazy mom.  I even bought my kids gifts for tomorrow because frankly, without them, I wouldn’t be celebrating this day at all.

I really do hope everyone who reads this enjoys their mothers day, whether they are a mother or not.  But remember to try, some random day in October, to call your mom (aunt, grandma, caregiver) up just to tell them you appreciate them and love them.  Mother’s day is once a year, but a mother’s love is year round.