Motherhood is a study in contrasts. Case in point: yesterday at my house.
12:30 pm, Sariah's room, naptime
Sariah and I lay down for stories prior to her nap. She chooses three books that focus on emotions and family relationships. (For those who are interested, I highly recommend all of these: "When Sophie Gets Angry, Really, Really Angry", "A Mother for Choco", and "More, More, More said the Baby".) As I read the stories, she acts out the stories. She asks questions on every page about what the people are doing and how they are feeling. When Little Guy's Daddy chases him, picks him up, and starts kissing his belly button, Sariah lifts up her shirt to point out that she, too, has a belly button. When Mrs. Bear gives Choco a big kiss, Sariah leans over so that she can give me a big kiss. When Sophie comes back inside after her tantrum, Sariah eagerly points out all the family members that are waiting for her and how "Sophie not mad anymore".
It is pure magic! Reading these books together, I can't help but bask in the wonder of having a warm and beautiful relationship with my own little girl. All of these stories are metaphors for our own lives and our own relationship. I reflect on the miracle of bonding, and I wish that this moment could last forever.
When it finally comes to an end, my little girl is fast asleep.
8:00 pm, Sariah's room, bedtime
It's been a good day, but a long one. I have already managed to stay calm through a 45-minute tantrum courtesy of one member of the family who will remain nameless. James has just left for a church meeting, and I am tired. I am looking forward to putting kids to bed and relaxing at my computer. I decide that in the interest of time, I will just gather all three of us on Sariah's bed. I know Dallin is exhausted, and I think he will fall asleep easily. Sariah had a good nap, but I've kept her up an hour later, and I can tell by looking at her that she is tired.
Can we say "disaster"?! And it's 90% my fault. Sariah spends her time tossing and turning and complaining that she doesn't have enough room, we are touching her blanket, etc. Dallin keeps asking if he can go down stairs. Both kids decide they are suddenly thirsty and hungry, the typical ways they stall having to go to sleep. When I say no, Sariah begins screaming and Dallin tries to wear me down by repeating incessantly "Mom, I'm hungry. Mom, I'm hungry. Mom, I'm hungry. Mom, I'm hungry." (Picture me, laying between the two of them, having one child up close and personal in each ear.) I try telling stories to get them to calm down. Halfway through Hansel and Gretel, I realize that I don't know how the story goes. And Dallin is convinced that I am NOT getting it right and should start over.
I decide to go downstairs. I need a break, and I figure they will have each other. Nobody will be left alone. Of course, the second I climb off the bed, Sariah freaks out and starts sobbing. So I go back and try again. (I don't believe in letting them cry it out.) Another 10 or 15 minutes go by, with no sleep coming for anyone. I'm rubbing backs and gently trying to encourage rest. No dice. Every time I think someone is almost out, a little head rises up again and we're back to square one. Now, most nights, I would be content to just lie down and pretend to go to sleep myself. But not this night. I am craving my personal time and space with every ounce of my being. I know that Sariah will probably go to sleep if I make Dallin go downstairs, but then I will have to start bedtime all over again with him.
About 45 minutes into it, I get frustrated again and try going downstairs. Once again, Sariah starts screaming. I am getting angry. Really, really angry. I rush into the room and do a little screaming myself. (OK, it was more than a little.) I tell her that she just needs to Go. To. Sleep! And it really shouldn't be this hard! And I don't feel like doing this any more! This is ridiculous! And not necessary! So Just. Go. To. Sleep. Already!!!
And after I've had my rant-out, I feel deflated. And sad. And so, so sorry. I lay down next to my children and apologize. I tell them I've been acting like Bombaloo (a temper-tantruming monster from yet another book we own). And I hear a little 6-year-old voice from the other side of the bed say quietly, but clearly, "Yes, you have." And that breaks my heart, even though I am simultaneously impressed that he actually had the guts to say that to me at that particular moment. I mean, what if my head-biting-off mood hasn't really gone away completely?
So I apologize again to my kids and start rubbing backs, and a few minutes later everyone is asleep, almost 1.5 hours after we started this whole fiasco.
And now the mommy guilt sets in for real. It stays with me all night long, and into this morning. While we're waiting for breakfast, I gather both children on my lap and apologize one more time for what happened last night.
It amazes me that in the very same day, two very similar routines can play out so drastically different. It really accentuates the constrasts that define this experience of motherhood.
12:30 pm, Sariah's room, naptime
Sariah and I lay down for stories prior to her nap. She chooses three books that focus on emotions and family relationships. (For those who are interested, I highly recommend all of these: "When Sophie Gets Angry, Really, Really Angry", "A Mother for Choco", and "More, More, More said the Baby".) As I read the stories, she acts out the stories. She asks questions on every page about what the people are doing and how they are feeling. When Little Guy's Daddy chases him, picks him up, and starts kissing his belly button, Sariah lifts up her shirt to point out that she, too, has a belly button. When Mrs. Bear gives Choco a big kiss, Sariah leans over so that she can give me a big kiss. When Sophie comes back inside after her tantrum, Sariah eagerly points out all the family members that are waiting for her and how "Sophie not mad anymore".
It is pure magic! Reading these books together, I can't help but bask in the wonder of having a warm and beautiful relationship with my own little girl. All of these stories are metaphors for our own lives and our own relationship. I reflect on the miracle of bonding, and I wish that this moment could last forever.
When it finally comes to an end, my little girl is fast asleep.
8:00 pm, Sariah's room, bedtime
It's been a good day, but a long one. I have already managed to stay calm through a 45-minute tantrum courtesy of one member of the family who will remain nameless. James has just left for a church meeting, and I am tired. I am looking forward to putting kids to bed and relaxing at my computer. I decide that in the interest of time, I will just gather all three of us on Sariah's bed. I know Dallin is exhausted, and I think he will fall asleep easily. Sariah had a good nap, but I've kept her up an hour later, and I can tell by looking at her that she is tired.
Can we say "disaster"?! And it's 90% my fault. Sariah spends her time tossing and turning and complaining that she doesn't have enough room, we are touching her blanket, etc. Dallin keeps asking if he can go down stairs. Both kids decide they are suddenly thirsty and hungry, the typical ways they stall having to go to sleep. When I say no, Sariah begins screaming and Dallin tries to wear me down by repeating incessantly "Mom, I'm hungry. Mom, I'm hungry. Mom, I'm hungry. Mom, I'm hungry." (Picture me, laying between the two of them, having one child up close and personal in each ear.) I try telling stories to get them to calm down. Halfway through Hansel and Gretel, I realize that I don't know how the story goes. And Dallin is convinced that I am NOT getting it right and should start over.
I decide to go downstairs. I need a break, and I figure they will have each other. Nobody will be left alone. Of course, the second I climb off the bed, Sariah freaks out and starts sobbing. So I go back and try again. (I don't believe in letting them cry it out.) Another 10 or 15 minutes go by, with no sleep coming for anyone. I'm rubbing backs and gently trying to encourage rest. No dice. Every time I think someone is almost out, a little head rises up again and we're back to square one. Now, most nights, I would be content to just lie down and pretend to go to sleep myself. But not this night. I am craving my personal time and space with every ounce of my being. I know that Sariah will probably go to sleep if I make Dallin go downstairs, but then I will have to start bedtime all over again with him.
About 45 minutes into it, I get frustrated again and try going downstairs. Once again, Sariah starts screaming. I am getting angry. Really, really angry. I rush into the room and do a little screaming myself. (OK, it was more than a little.) I tell her that she just needs to Go. To. Sleep! And it really shouldn't be this hard! And I don't feel like doing this any more! This is ridiculous! And not necessary! So Just. Go. To. Sleep. Already!!!
And after I've had my rant-out, I feel deflated. And sad. And so, so sorry. I lay down next to my children and apologize. I tell them I've been acting like Bombaloo (a temper-tantruming monster from yet another book we own). And I hear a little 6-year-old voice from the other side of the bed say quietly, but clearly, "Yes, you have." And that breaks my heart, even though I am simultaneously impressed that he actually had the guts to say that to me at that particular moment. I mean, what if my head-biting-off mood hasn't really gone away completely?
So I apologize again to my kids and start rubbing backs, and a few minutes later everyone is asleep, almost 1.5 hours after we started this whole fiasco.
And now the mommy guilt sets in for real. It stays with me all night long, and into this morning. While we're waiting for breakfast, I gather both children on my lap and apologize one more time for what happened last night.
It amazes me that in the very same day, two very similar routines can play out so drastically different. It really accentuates the constrasts that define this experience of motherhood.
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