reflections as an introverted momma

I am an introvert.

If you know me, you are probably not surprised by that statement.

I used to hate this about myself. In fact, growing up, I just thought of myself as "shy." And I hated being "shy."  I grew up and learned that what was masking itself as shyness was really just my own need to be by myself a little more than other people. I needed to seek out few, close friendships rather than a huge circle of friends and acquaintences. Thanks to Susan Cain, I have actually come to embrace this about myself; I've really come to love it and see it as one of my greatest assets.

Just when I was growing to love this part of my personality...motherhood happened. Motherhood happened and my heart felt fuller than it has ever felt before. Motherhood happened and I felt like I had actually found my calling. Motherhood happened and I felt a wholeness and a contentment I had never, ever felt before.

Motherhood happened and as the days grew into weeks, the weeks into months, the months into years (!), I began to feel a new level of mental exhaustion I had never felt before. I chalked it up to all the things that motherhood is; all the caring for another human being, worrying about doing things the "right" way, waking at odd hours of the night in response to a child's needs and cry.

And then one day I noticed that even on those less stressful days, those days where things seemed to just come naturally, the day's schedule went perfectly, the baby wasn't as needy, was sleeping all night, nursed well, ate well, played well...that even on those days, those really, really good and happy days, by the day's end, I couldn't wait for just one minute to myself. I couldn't wait for the baby to go to bed so I could just sit and be.

And I felt guilty. Horribly guilty. Here I was, finally "getting" this whole mothering thing, with a pretty awesome, laid back baby, feeling confident in my execution of motherhood, and yet, all I could think about by lunchtime was the next time I could steal time away just for myself.

And yes I realize this is not an uncommon thought. But I work all day; I send my child to daycare while I talk to adults and have lunch with adults and get time alone to myself in a car. And yet, even when I would get home with my baby (whom I hadn't seen most of the day), on many days I still just longed for bedtime to come immediately.

And that's when I realized: It wasn't that I didn't love being a mother, caring for this beautiful human my husband and I created, this hilarious, snuggly, wonderfully smart and funny little guy. It wasn't that I didn't love the cuddles and the time and the bonding.  It was just introverted me needing to recharge, to decompress (by myself), to turn "off" what was constantly "on" throughout my day as a professional and as a mother.

And once I was able to identify that about myself, I felt a little less guilty. It's still a struggle. I still have moments of guilt, moments in which I feel like a failure. But I know it's not failure. I know I am a good mother.  I know my husband and I are doing a great job of loving the mess out of our little boy.

I just have to remind myself that it's ok to need to recharge. It's ok not to sign up for all the play dates or mom's nights out.  It's ok to feel a flutter of excitement as nap time or bed time near.  It's ok.

Because taking care of me is also taking care of my child. Understanding me allows me to be the best, most nurturing and kind parent I can be to my child.

I admit I have to work on this introversion of mine. I sometimes have to do things that don't feel so "comfortable" in the moment in order to really engage with my son, to roar like a lion, or waddle like a penguin, or hop like a frog.  But I do it. And it's challenging. And my exhaustion may reach a whole new level at the end of that day. But it's worth it. To hear him laugh, it's worth it. To watch his eyes crinkle up when he smiles, it's worth it. To hear him say, "I yuv  you."

It's worth it.

So, as we patiently await the arrival of number two, I recognize that adding a new one to the mix won't make this part of parenting any easier for me. But with time, I am learning to dance with the amazing blessing that is, the holy challenge that is before me, and finding the "beat" that works for my family and me.

roar.

reflections as a mother of one

“Is he your first?”

When my son was just a baby and strangers would peer into the stroller at his squishable cheeks and rosebud lips, awing at the sight of our sweet bundle, this was often their first question.  It was as though they were waiting to know whether to unleash an abundance of sage new parenting advice or simply smile, nod, and comment on how I must have my hands full or if he was the only boy, etc.

As a proud (albeit exhausted) new mama, I would smile and declare, “Yes” which was then often followed by a gush and the aforementioned sage new parenting advice about being sure to “enjoy him” because “they grow up so fast.”

I loved being that “new mom.” I reveled in it. I didn’t mind the advice, the wisdom, the gushing over how exciting this time in my life was. I loved it because as long as I was still new, I didn’t need to have it all together.

Fast forward two years, and I am no longer a new mama. I am a veteran. I have spent two of the most exhausting, joyous, tough, intense, happy years of my life preparing that tiny baby boy for toddlerhood. 

And.  Here we are. Toddlerhood.

And yet.

I still.feel.like such a newbie. I may not be a “new mother” but boy oh boy do I feel new as I adjust to this whole toddler thing.  One piece of advice “they” always seem to leave out is that just when you start to feel comfortable with one stage of development, you wake up, and that baby that went to sleep the night before, is a new human being. Bigger. Stronger. Louder. Funnier. Bouncier. Smarter. And ready to challenge your very notions of parenthood.

As we enter this new (incredible) phase of our son’s childhood, I am, of course, finding that some of it is far easier than it used to be. His ability to entertain himself for minutes at a time, listen to and respond to instruction, or delight in “helping” with chores around the house have given me a little more sense of freedom.

And yet.

And yet, I still have days (like yesterday) where once he is put down to bed all I want to do is crawl to the couch (or bed) and not move for the next several hours, chores and to do lists taking a backseat to my weariness.

(But this is supposed to be easier right? You’ve been doing this a while now.  You do just have the one).

And still….

I forget to restock the diaper bag.

I leave the snacks on the kitchen counter, next to the baby sunscreen, while we head to the park. 

I don’t shower every day.

“Is he your only one?”

The question has changed.  Walking around the park with my (not always sunscreened) toddler, I can’t help but notice that most of the moms on the playground chasing after toddlers like my own are either sporting a precious round bump or patting the bum of a Moby-wrapped newborn, seeming to have it all under control while I, mother of one, am silently chastising myself for forgetting the darn sunscreen, checking each minute to see if my son’s skin looks pinker, not taking my eyes off of him for one single second.  Wondering how the drive home will be if the snacks that sit on the kitchen counter aren’t readily available at the toddler’s (predictable-duh, how could you forget them?) request.

The question comes out cheerily, as a veteran mama bounces her newest little bundle, not even facing the direction of her toddler while I keep darting my eyes to keep mine in my direct line of vision.

My “yes” is no longer declared so proudly. I almost feel I need to apologize when responding, like I need to follow up with: “Oh, I know.  I know I have it easy. I know. I know it’s time that we had another one. I know. I know that getting him out of the house took WAY less time than it did for your two (except it didn’t).”

And then I want to follow that with: “YOU. You’re the real mother here. You’re the real one making it all work, juggling two (more?) children’s schedules, making sure they are both (all) fed, clothed, (sunscreened).” 

Because the rational side of me says I’ve beat the learning curve. I am no longer a “new mommy.”  I should have this down and be preparing for another, to stay sharp, keep challenging myself. I feel like as I stand there looking at these two + kid parents, that I am somehow not good enough. That by “only” having one child, I am shying away from the “real” stuff. The “real” exhaustion.  The “real” measure of what it means to be a mother.  That this stage of life should just be a cake walk. That I can’t be relatable to women who no longer mother “only children.”

And yet.

I still sometimes feel that I am so far behind the learning curve I may never catch up.  The other moms on the playground, the ones with their Ergos and Moby wraps and double strollers, look so together to me. They look almost relaxed, less anxious about sunburns and strangers.

They managed to get out of the house with fully stocked diaper bags (and remember the sunscreen I am sure) while I fought through a two year old’s tears wanting sandals instead of tennis shoes, to buckle his carseat himself, to go “that way” rather than “this way” and already feel completely beaten down before we even set foot on the playground.  And they probably dealt with the same thing ONLY WITH ANOTHER little person to take care of, too, and they don’t look as haggard and impatient as I most certainly feel.

But I know…

It’s ok to have the feelings that I have. It’s ok to feel like I don’t have it all together. It’s ok that my days feel just as exhausting as a mother of two. It’s ok that I still forget the sunscreen.

Because  I’m still a mother. I still have a learning curve. All us mamas do.  My baby (toddler) is growing and changing and presenting me with new (wondrous!) challenges each and every day.

Because those mamas with their second, third, fourth beautiful bundles may face different challenges and with more little people to factor into those challenges, but they and I are still mamas.  We are still investing our love and time and energy into these incredible vessels of life.  We still need to support each other, whether we mother one baby or five.

We are all still mamas. 

I hope that someday our son knows the love and fun of having a sibling.  For now, the next time I see that Moby-wrapped, double stroller mama on the playground, rather than shy away, I want to laugh with her over our toddlers playing together and stroke her newest one’s soft downy head (with permission of course), and revel in the fact that we both get what it means to be a hard-working, intensely loving, sometimes impatient, sometimes forgetful, heart nearly bursting mama.

an open letter to my husband on father's day

To the man I love,

Our world doesn't give men like you very much credit. We live in a world of articles and blogs celebrating mothers, mothers as nurturers, mothers as birthers, swaddlers, up all nighters. Mothers who stay home, mothers who work, mothers who run, mothers who cook, mothers who... mother.  

We glorify mothers, praise mothers, tell mothers they can have it all, that it's ok if they can't do it all.  We are sure to remind them that they are enough just as they are.

We often fail to recognize the amazing partners helping us mothers not completely fall apart as we work, we run, we cook, we seek to live a life that feels like we do indeed "have it all."  

We celebrate (debate) mothers' choices for feeding.

I've never thanked you for those times you knew just what to say and just how to help during those early days of feeding, when the nights were long, and my body felt like it couldn't give any more.

We constantly remind mothers of the importance of self-care.

I never remind you, the man who comes home after 8+ hours of work, immediately falls to his knees to play blocks or trains with our little boy, wrestles him into the bathtub, then rounds out the evening elbow deep in a sink full of food splattered dishes, to remember to take care of yourself.

We write helpful mommy blogs with tips such as "how to clean your home in less than 30 minutes a day" (as though that's my biggest daily worry).

I take for granted the (many) days the laundry gets done, the garbage gets emptied, the dishwasher gets loaded (and run), the checks get written, the toys get put back in their organized places.

And yet...

Without you:

Colin would miss out on pony rides to his bedroom,

a stalwart set of shoulders giving him the best view at the zoo,

slam dunks on the basketball goal,

foot races down the hallway.

Without you:

I wouldn't be able to mother 

without completely falling apart.

Thank you for fathering alongside me, being a true partner in this journey of love, committing to Colin and me each and every day.

Thank you for being the father that I hope Colin someday gets to be.

Thank you.

Just.  Thank you.

Love always.

right now

right now

I still watch my kid like a hawk when we go to the playground (secretly longing and yet already lamenting the day he can do it with me more on the sidelines)

right now

My workouts are 

chasing my toddler

dancing in the living room

holding his hands as he tentatively crosses the wobbly bridge (saving up those precious hours after bed time for a hot shower and a spot on the couch)

right now

My bedtime sometimes starts curled up next to his crib as I listen to his deep, slow breaths (his lullabies lulling me, to do lists dancing around my tired brain, longing to get up and leave, saddened knowing someday he won't need this anymore)

right now 

my own time feels like no time

to do lists feel like a joke

dust feels like a protective coating that should not be tampered with

right now

is a season

a precious, remarkable, humbling

season

a time to celebrate

As I enter my birthday month and the beginning of the new year, I am reflecting on all the goodness in my life. All the sadness. All the uglyness. All the awesomeness. All the laughter. All the tears. All the "stuff" that mixes together to make this one brutiful life.

In this reflection, I have decided I have plenty of stuff. I want to celebrate in a different way this year. To my friends and family, I ask that you consider making a donation to one of the following organizations to help me celebrate my 33rd year!

The Intercollegiate YMCA of Indianapolis

I love how this organization seeks to create and empower cause driven leaders through a campus presence. Students at each of the Indy campus YMCAs are doing amazing things from implementing an after school program for children in a local section 8 housing community to setting up a homework tutoring club at a local library to traveling domestically and abroad on service-based trips to meet community need during Fall and Spring breaks.  I loved my opportunities to serve in college, and those opportunities led me to choose a career devoted to helping and service as well as instilled in me a desire to continue to serve in my community upon graduation.

Learn more about the mission and programs of the Intercollegiate YMCA: http://www.indymca.org/centers/intercollegiate/center-news/

Support the Intercollegiate YMCA: https://indymca.thankyou4caring.org/annualcampaign.  **Be sure to choose the Intercollegiate YMCA as the center where you want your funds designated.

Girls on the Run of Hamilton County

I wrote about this organization when I first started this blog.  Though I am not involved at the same level I was three years ago, I still believe in the mission of empowering girls to walk/run/move forward and OUT of the "girl box" and lead healthy, joyful, confident lives. I love that running is integrated into the curriculum because running has become such a source of confidence for me over the past ten years.  I think this program is powerful and fun, and I think Molly Barker totally rocks.

Learn more about the mission and programs of Girls on the Run of Hamilton County: http://gotrhamiltoncounty.org/.

Support Girls on the Run of Hamilton County: http://gotrhamiltoncounty.org/donate/

Cheers to an amazing year, my friends!

why am i so favored? reflections on waiting, wondering, and hoping this advent season

Below is a talk I shared at my church last advent season (December 2012)

Luke 1: 26-56 

Luke 2:17-20

Why am I so favored?

Elizabeth asks this question when Mary comes to her to share her news from the angel Gabriel. “Why am I so favored, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?”

As a mother, I ask myself this question every day: Why am I so favored? I have always wanted to be a mother. As a little girl, dolls were my toys of choice- I carried “my baby” with me everywhere from the time I could walk. I rocked my babies and fed my babies and changed my babies. I looked forward to nothing more than becoming a mom and having a baby of my own someday. As soon as I was old enough I started babysitting. Pretty soon, I was padding my teenage piggy bank with money from regular babysitting jobs. I loved caring for children…even when Legos were tossed, feet were stomped, arms were crossed, and that nauseating purple dinosaur bleated a constant chorus in the background.

When I reached adulthood, met my love, and got married, becoming a mother became more of a reality. A couple of married years passed, and we decided to expand our family. And we planned. I read books… and blogs (probably too many blogs)…and took vitamins…and visited the doctor…and prayed. And I wondered…will I be so favored? Our journey into parenthood began on a Tuesday morning when two pink lines literally changed our lives forever. We were going to have a baby. I was going to become a mother.

Mary didn’t have two pink lines to tell her she was going to have a baby. She and Joseph didn’t wait anxiously for 3 full minutes to know what the future held. She didn’t call Elizabeth the morning she woke up feeling just a little bit sick, wondering, “could it be?” No…Mary’s life changed forever when an angel came to her and told her she would soon carry a baby boy who would grow up to become the Savior of our world. She had found favor with God, and He entrusted her to carry and give birth to “the Son of the Most High,” the Lord whose “kingdom will never end.” Why was she so favored?

Last Christmas I was carrying a baby boy. I didn’t know he was a boy, but I felt the kicks and turns and flutters of a baby growing inside me, and I felt like being pregnant at such a holy time was so special. I knew he wasn’t the savior of our world, but I knew he was someone special and would bring blessings to not only Chris and me but to so many around us. I could never have imagined or planned for the bouncing, joyful, wondrous gift that Colin is to us. Born just 3 days shy of Easter (due to be born on Good Friday), he is, in many ways, our own little savior- a wonderful reminder of the gift of new life, innocence, and love.

I wonder how Mary felt carrying Jesus in her belly. Did she have any idea of the gift she was bearing to the world? Did she worry? Was she afraid? Did she wonder how she was going to do it- mother our Lord and Savior? Did she have her doubts? Did she wonder about the future? Or was that too much for her to bear? Did she question whether or not this was truly a blessing? I don’t know Mary’s thoughts throughout her pregnancy, but I do know that upon reflecting on the news, she rejoiced: “My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant…holy is his name.”

The morning I learned of our news, I didn’t immediately rejoice. I was terrified. No book or blog had prepared me for that moment when I knew I would be bringing a child into this world- a child Chris and I would be responsible for raising to become an upstanding human being. At least Mary knew she was getting a pretty good kid- he was the savior after all. I, quite frankly, had no idea. Was I ready for this? No, I wasn’t ready. We weren’t ready. That is why 9 months separated us from the 2 pink lines and the incredible moment when the doctor lifted up our son and said “It’s a boy!” Like Mary, despite my initial fear, I did feel blessed to have been called to such a magnificent task as parenting. I may not have carried a Savior but I see parenting as magnificent gift and opportunity. Chris emailed me a poem from an on-line devotional one day called the Art of Parenting. The words of this poem reassured me that as parents, we were going to be ok. It even prompted me to write a letter to our unborn child. 

A Letter to Colin (written before he was born)

Parenting as Art by: Gordon Atkinson

you do your best you do what seems right in your gut

often maybe even mostly you dont know why you do what you do

and somehow in the delightful mix of your sin and your sorrow and your joy the two of you bringing your best and 

your worst to this

a unique and lovely human forms and comes into being

carrying your sins and your virtues often magnified and being broken and human and wonderful like you

Dear Little One,

Daddy sent me this yesterday while I spent another day on bed rest with you. I love the words of this poem. And I have been thinking a lot lately not just about parenting as an art but about parenting as a calling. Your dad and I are broken and so very human…and together in our love for one another, we chose to bring another broken, human, and yet so wonderful being into this world. We are not perfect. You are not perfect. But you were made perfectly. And we were made perfectly. God made us perfectly. Our very humanness, though, takes the perfectly created creations that we are and renders us imperfect beings.

What I like about this poem is that it reminds me that our best and our worst are coming together to make something so wonderful. You are already so wonderful. A mixture of what makes us as your parents both wonderful and not so wonderful at the same time. The mix of sin, sorrow and joy is described as a “delightful mix.” It takes all of that to create an amazing life together. It isn’t all perfect. We make our mistakes. There are traits we wish we didn’t posses, actions we wish we had never taken, words we wish we had never spoken. All of these things are part of the delightful mix that is our life.

Parenting is a calling because it pushes us outside of our limits, our self-created boxes and walls, and asks us to give of ourselves in a way that is bigger and heavier and more grace-filled than anything else we could give our lives to. Before we got pregnant with you, I knew that being a mother was a calling for me…or at least I wanted it to be my calling. I knew it was a calling because while it delighted me in my innermost being, it also terrified me to the core. I knew it was not something I could do, or that we could do, without God’s help and blessing. The only way two imperfect people can take on the monumental task of parenting is to rely on God’s infinite wisdom.

Our commitment to you, little one, is to continue to follow this calling as we would with any other. This is not a task we take lightly. We cannot promise we will be perfect in this endeavor. But we will commit to calling on God’s support and wisdom…which will itself come in so many forms through friends and family and experiences…to raise you in the best possible home with a palpable love that you will never have to question. 

Love, Momma

This letter was one way I prepared for our son’s birth- it was an opportunity for me to reflect on who I would be as a mother…who we would be as parents. I don’t know how Mary prepared for her son’s arrival. I don’t know if she talked Joseph’s ear off or spent time alone thinking about what the future would hold. I do imagine that she was a reflective individual. The Bible tells us that after Jesus’ birth, the shepherds spread the word of his coming and all “who heard it were amazed.” But Mary responded by “treasur[ing] up all these things and ponder[ing] them in her heart.”

As a working mother I have a hard time just “pondering” and treasuring up this special time- I forget to just breathe and be ok sitting amidst the unvaccumed carpets and the dust settling in the corners of my home. I want to constantly move and go and clean and organize. But I want to be more like Mary. And, I see Advent as the perfect time to do this. Advent is the time for us to remember that each of us here are favored. We are all favored- because we are loved beyond any human capacity by our God.

During this Advent season, let us reflect on this favor we have received despite our sinful natures. Let us open our hearts as Mary did during this time of preparation and waiting. In the midst of our own self-doubt; the mistakes we inevitably make as parents, caregivers, children, and friends; the chaos of our ambitious lives- Let us slow down and remember that none of us deserves the favor that has been afforded us through the gift of Jesus Christ and yet it has been gifted to each of us. Let us open our hearts to this favor and rejoice as Mary did- for the Mighty One has done great things for us… and Holy is his name.

are we doing it right?

So, I have been thinking a lot lately about the life we are providing for Colin, the kind of parents we are, the kind of home in which we are raising him. It's a good life, an awesome life, an incredibly loving, warm, and nurturing life.  And yet, I just put down the first half of the book The Science of Parenting, and my goodness, I wonder if it's been warm and nurturing enough!  (I know, I know...calm down, you say).

But, gee, this entire "text" book written on baby and toddler brain development has me wondering if we have been as responsive to all of his cries has possible; have we picked him up enough? (I think so; I wore him a lot has a baby and even wear him some now...); has daycare scarred him?; was he held enough while he was there as an infant?; are his emotional needs being met each time I leave him there and trot off to work as though that is more important than time spent with him? (again, I know, calm down).

He is a bright, happy, inquisitive, active, funny little guy.  I know that we are doing WONDERFULLY as his parents, and I feel that some of our parenting has honestly just come naturally to us. I know that when we see him upset or in distress, we run to him and hold him, not taking the time to think: "Are we spoiling him?" I know that despite what we have "heard" or even been told by his pediatrician that most nights of poor sleep and a crying baby, we have gone right to him, picked him up, held and rocked him, and even put him in our own bed to feel close to us while he slept (following all rules of sleep safety here...).  I have had nights, though, now that he is older, where I have probably let him cry a little longer or even put him down before he is fully asleep just because the messages firing off in my brain are: "He'll never learn to sleep if you always coddle him this way..."

I am learning as a parent that I need to be more in tune with the intuitive side of me, to listen to how I feel rather than what the "books" or (blogs) or doctors say (disregard the fact that I am partially writing this in response to a book).  As parents, we know our child. We know his temperament. We know screaming awake in the middle of the night is not normal. We know that a rock and cuddle before bed is what will calm him down and make him feel safe. We know that he likes being held, prefers it to sitting in the cart at the grocery store, and that's ok.  We know that he likes to feel close to us, touching us, running his fingers through our hair. We know these things, so we respond accordingly. It doesn't matter that the "sleep trainers" tell us that rocking him to sleep will only make him dependent on motion to ever go to sleep for the rest of his life. Who cares if carrying him through a store rather than making him ride in a cart is "spoiling" him? Right now, as his parents, it is our responsibility to respond to the child we know, the emotions he emotes, and his very be-ing.

Throwing out the "rules" and responding to my child based on how it feels to respond to him feels a bit rebellious. I am a rules girl after all.  But as I read that book last night, I was affirmed in our approach, in how we are responding, and even re-thinking those times in which I have leaned towards the "rules" rather than my own feelings as a mother.

Our baby needs us to respond, to hold him, to make him feel safe. This will not create a spoiled or coddled child. This will create a well-adjusted, trusting, and happy child.