Being a Mama to a Three Year Old (An Essay on Motherhood)

Right now I am in a valley.  It’s not the deepest of valleys by any means, but some days it feels that way.  Because that’s what motherhood is.  A series of peaks and valleys, and when you’re high atop that mountain or crawling through that valley, the emotions are overwhelming.  The highs I’ve felt as a mother are perhaps the very best I’ve ever felt.  When I saw my daughters’ tiny faces for the first time.  When I called my pregnant best friend from the hospital just to tell her that I couldn’t wait for her to experience the unconditional love that felt like it was bursting from my chest.  Chloe was only 48 hours old, and yet knowing that I was the only person in the world that could love and nourish her the way I was made to, gave me clarity like nothing ever had in my life.  When they first locked eyes with me and smiled.  When we would fall asleep together … an exhausted, unshowered, sore mama and her fresh, tiny baby snuggled in close, our breaths rising and falling in sync.

And then the lows.  The ones we don’t like to talk about.  But they sure are real and boy can they feel lonely.  When Chloe was screaming that last day in the hospital, and I was wiping away tears of pain due to breastfeeding.  I didn’t know how to comfort her, and I was terrified to bring her home.  When nursing was excruciating, and I felt like my body was failing me yet again after an unplanned cesarean delivery.  When I rocked a three-day old Emelia in one room, listening to my two year old wail in another because she missed me and her whole world had turned upside down.  I cried freely, wondering how I would love them both in the way they needed.  And now with my oldest daughter, in a stage more challenging than I ever imagined, I’m emotionally drained.  It’s a daily battle of the wills, and most of the time, I feel like I’m losing.  I find myself asking, “Why is she so difficult?”  But that’s so unfair to label her in that way.  She’s a tiny human being, 37 months old, discovering the world and all it’s complexities.  Learning that she has a voice and a will.  Curious about the boundaries set by her parents.  Trying to process so many emotions that fill her.  So the difficulty is not HER.  But it’s there somehow; I feel it.  I feel frustrated, angry, fed up.  I’m confused, brokenhearted and ashamed of how I’ve responded at times.  There has been yelling, discipline, tears, hugs and more tears.

You see, motherhood has never felt this real before.  When you’re rocking babies to sleep, changing diapers and playing chase in the house … it’s exhausting, but it’s not earth-shattering parenting.  When I accidentally clipped her skin while trimming her nails as a newborn, of course I cried, but I knew she wouldn’t remember it.  But now every decision I make … the words I choose, my tone of voice, my consistency with consequences, the tightness of my grip on her hand … it all matters.  And I feel it all so deeply.  The tears in the shower when I feel like I failed that day, the desperate prayers after bedtime for strength, patience and wisdom and dare I say, the shame that fills me from head to toe when I know I could have done better.

I’m all about finding the humor in parenting; I think it’s a vital release when we’re in the thick of it all.  But these raw, emotional feelings have to be aired, too.  Because I know I’m not alone.  And so here I am, deep in a valley (or so it feels) with my daughter who I want desperately to raise into a strong, brave, kind, compassionate woman.  A woman who feels empathy and has a generous heart.  One who seeks out the brokenhearted and is a friend to the weak.  One who pursues God and strives to share His goodness wherever she goes.  And right now, at three years old, we’re a long way from there.  It’s defiance and stubbornness.  It’s not wanting to share and choosing disobedience at every turn.  But it’s not these things that define my daughter.  She’s figuring it all out, and I have to guide her.  With love, encouragement and understanding.  And I have to take a deep breath and remember.  Remember the things I don’t want to miss while wading through this valley.

Like when she tells me, “I love you to the moon and to the stars and to the comets, mommy.”  When she laughs so loudly and deeply as we chase each other through the house.  Or how she asks for me to snuggle her and she practically climbs inside my skin.  Her joy in helping me, whether bringing me a diaper for her sister, cooking dinner or unloading the dishwasher.  The way she nurtures her baby dolls and feeds her sister, asking, “Do you want more cracker, sweetie pie?”  Oh, and the way music fills her soul as she sings along to endless songs.  You see, she’s wonderful.  She’s charming and sweet, funny and loving.  And sometimes I just need to close my eyes, take a deep breath and remember this … even when she’s forgetting to show me these attributes.

Whether I’m in this valley for a long or short time, it feels very real and hard right now.  I hope every day that I’m enough.  That I will be what she needs me to be.  That I will handle it with more grace than the day before.  That I will rise above my own frustrations, and model to her what a strong, loving woman is.  But that I will not be too hard on myself either.  That I will give myself grace, too, because I’m not a perfect mom.  But boy do I want to be a darn good one.  And my three year old?  She needs me to be one.

xoxo,

Heidi