Living It Twice
I am a world-class complainer. I could fill Olympic-sized swimming pools with words of dislike. And you'd need something that could hold 660,000 gallons, too, because the more upset I get the more verbose I become. I wonder how many words per gallon I could get when "he woke up early" becomes "he got me up at the ass-crack of dawn" and "he wouldn't eat lunch" morphs into "he utterly refused to eat a single morsel of the meal I slaved to make him."
Apparently I am not alone: the internet is brimming with books, blogs and columnists who openly and ironically start a sentence with "Motherhood sucks because..." and finish it with "...don't get me wrong, I love my kids."
It seems the fashionable trend right now is to complain, often humorously, about your family -- especially your children. On one hand, I get it. Man, do I get it. There is a wealth of negative things about motherhood from which it is easy to draw, because it's ever-present. Nobody looks forward to the sleeplessness, dirty diapers, tantrums, monotony, and loss of identity. It's really hard to be a parent, in ways that no one can understand until she has experienced it herself. And once you have experienced it, the struggle is so universal that it's difficult not to seek solace in others who have been there.
I'm not innocent here, because humor is a tool I employ to keep myself sane. If you can find funny in the frustrating and mundane, the battle is half won. Besides, I bet you'd be less interested in hearing about my little cherub's first steps than in hearing about the time when he was a newborn that I was changing him at 3 a.m. and noticed, in my bleary sleep-deprived stupor, that his face was wet -- only to realize I had accidentally let him pee on his own face. Oopsie.
On the other hand, what we mothers do a bad job of, I think, is explaining all the good parts. Sure, occasionally we will mention to each other or some mom-to-be, "That first smile is the best," or "I melted the first time she said I love you." But what I'm talking about is deliberately describing in detail the good parts, the parts you want to hold on to and never let go, the parts that make this whole motherhood effort worthwhile.
Like the deliciously sweet taste of a toddler's chubby cheeks and pudgy toes. And when you're close enough to nibble those, you can actually feel the laugh that starts in his belly and erupts through his mouth when he throws back his head in delight.
And the sense of peace and purpose that comes with rocking a sleeping child in a dark, quiet room. How warm he feels against your shoulder, and the unmistakable scent of Johnson's Baby Wash gently rising from his hair next to your cheek. How heartwarming his soft snores can be, because he got those from his dad.
Or the magic that comes with taking a walk together in the woods, and watching him wonder at this new, impossibly tall world around him. The overwhelming sweetness of him insisting on perching in your lap as you sit on a fallen tree trunk, and you share a snack in the middle of the afternoon.
And the first time he goes to the beach, and the half smile/half confused frown on his face when he feels the sand being pulled from beneath his toes as the waves recede. And how your heart warms when he holds out his small hand to a stranger, unselfconsciously inviting her to come wade in the water with him and his momma too.
Maybe we don't write about these moments that squeeze our hearts because they're so personal and unique to each mother. Maybe it's because the soft, happy posts don't have the click-through rate that funny, angry rants enjoy. Or maybe it's because we're not taking enough time at the end of each day, or each hour if you have to, to appreciate the things that went right and the moments you were so full of love you thought you might explode.
Some days the bad to good ratio is 5:1. Some days it feels like 25:1. But there's still that one. Yes, they are fewer and farther between than the moments you're tired or bored or seriously questioning your decision to have children. But these are the moments why you wanted to have children in the first place -- hold on to them as tightly as possible, and share whenever you can. Because in sharing, you get to live them twice.
Apparently I am not alone: the internet is brimming with books, blogs and columnists who openly and ironically start a sentence with "Motherhood sucks because..." and finish it with "...don't get me wrong, I love my kids."
It seems the fashionable trend right now is to complain, often humorously, about your family -- especially your children. On one hand, I get it. Man, do I get it. There is a wealth of negative things about motherhood from which it is easy to draw, because it's ever-present. Nobody looks forward to the sleeplessness, dirty diapers, tantrums, monotony, and loss of identity. It's really hard to be a parent, in ways that no one can understand until she has experienced it herself. And once you have experienced it, the struggle is so universal that it's difficult not to seek solace in others who have been there.
I'm not innocent here, because humor is a tool I employ to keep myself sane. If you can find funny in the frustrating and mundane, the battle is half won. Besides, I bet you'd be less interested in hearing about my little cherub's first steps than in hearing about the time when he was a newborn that I was changing him at 3 a.m. and noticed, in my bleary sleep-deprived stupor, that his face was wet -- only to realize I had accidentally let him pee on his own face. Oopsie.
On the other hand, what we mothers do a bad job of, I think, is explaining all the good parts. Sure, occasionally we will mention to each other or some mom-to-be, "That first smile is the best," or "I melted the first time she said I love you." But what I'm talking about is deliberately describing in detail the good parts, the parts you want to hold on to and never let go, the parts that make this whole motherhood effort worthwhile.
Like the deliciously sweet taste of a toddler's chubby cheeks and pudgy toes. And when you're close enough to nibble those, you can actually feel the laugh that starts in his belly and erupts through his mouth when he throws back his head in delight.
And the sense of peace and purpose that comes with rocking a sleeping child in a dark, quiet room. How warm he feels against your shoulder, and the unmistakable scent of Johnson's Baby Wash gently rising from his hair next to your cheek. How heartwarming his soft snores can be, because he got those from his dad.
Or the magic that comes with taking a walk together in the woods, and watching him wonder at this new, impossibly tall world around him. The overwhelming sweetness of him insisting on perching in your lap as you sit on a fallen tree trunk, and you share a snack in the middle of the afternoon.
And the first time he goes to the beach, and the half smile/half confused frown on his face when he feels the sand being pulled from beneath his toes as the waves recede. And how your heart warms when he holds out his small hand to a stranger, unselfconsciously inviting her to come wade in the water with him and his momma too.
Maybe we don't write about these moments that squeeze our hearts because they're so personal and unique to each mother. Maybe it's because the soft, happy posts don't have the click-through rate that funny, angry rants enjoy. Or maybe it's because we're not taking enough time at the end of each day, or each hour if you have to, to appreciate the things that went right and the moments you were so full of love you thought you might explode.
Some days the bad to good ratio is 5:1. Some days it feels like 25:1. But there's still that one. Yes, they are fewer and farther between than the moments you're tired or bored or seriously questioning your decision to have children. But these are the moments why you wanted to have children in the first place -- hold on to them as tightly as possible, and share whenever you can. Because in sharing, you get to live them twice.
I simultaneously love and hate you for this post.
ReplyDeleteIs someone nearby cutting an onion.....?