I am with you.
I was with you when you were in my belly. I was swollen, heavy, tired, and I felt like a moose, but I was with you.
I was with you in the seconds, the minutes, and the hours of labor, when I truly didn’t think I could go on.
I was with you when I held you, and nursed you, and smelled your perfect skin for the very first time.
I was with you at 3am and again at 3:45. I was with you when I stumbled in the dark to get you from your crib. I was with you when I bargained with God for you to sleep.
Friendship is the wine and the coffee for my soul. Doing motherhood without them is like watching a comedy alone (weird, gross, and not all that funny).
I don’t need the same kind of friends as I once did. I’m a lot less patient with barelyscratchthesurface small talk . I have enough mind-numbing conversations with my children (God love em). I need real in my life. I need friends that are real, and friends that I can be real around.
I’m laying on my bed hiding right now. I can hear the kids bickering as they get ready for bed, and a little voice calling for water and a song. I’m tired and weary to my bones. I will get up anyway. I will go kiss little foreheads and pray a prayer. I will get the extra sip of water and I will listen while they tell me about their toe with the sliver. I will say, “Okay sweetie, no more talking. It’s time to sleep now, ” but then I will still say “uh-huh” a couple more times as I sneak out the door.
Now that I’m a mom, I’ve learned that motherhood is a lot more about showing up than it is about anything else.
It’s tempting to pretend that there aren’t ritz crackers hidden deep inside my shag carpet, along with some other things I probably don’t want to know about. It’s tempting to pretend my four-year-old doesn’t rock the same “favorite” dress three days in a row, and that I don’t currently smell like men’s Old Spice deodorant. Sometimes I’d rather my life looked like a Instagram feed of awesome. I’d also rather my butt looked like a bubble instead of a wide pancake, but we all have to live our truth.
The thing I’ve noticed is that when I don’t pretend, I find my people (the ones who don’t pretend either), and to me that reward is everything. Literally everything.
So to the women, the moms, the people, who don’t pretend…
I am with you when the bills are built up and unpaid and when our shoulders are tense with stress and worry.
I am with you when the kids are up sick in the middle of the night, and we brush shoulders as we grab towels and bowls and stroke little warm foreheads.
I am with you in seasons of wealth and seasons of scraping by. I am with you whether we drive a 97 Honda Accord or a 2018 Suburban. I AM WITH YOU.
I was reminded today that when suffering from depression or anxiety it is important to set achievable goals. WELL THAT IS ME. SO, I have taken it upon myself to make some meaningful, achievable, goals for 2018. Feel free to steal.
3-4 glasses of wine a week at least (BECAUSE I AM NOT LAZY).
One day a week where I am still braless and pants-less when I pick up my kids from school. This is so I can keep expectations low and so I can make it easier for my mom tribe to find me. ***YOU WILL RECOGNIZE ME BY MY DIRTY HAIR AND H & M SWEAT PANTS. I WILL BE HOLDING A CRYING 4YO. INTRODUCE YOURSELF IF YOU LIKE COFFEE, WINE, AND DECORATIVE LAUNDRY PILES.
At 3:50 in the morning last Tuesday I was woken up by an alert on my phone. The rain pounded down so loud that I was shaking, but we were in a safe place and I finally went back to sleep. Because of the Thomas fire we’ve been getting these kind of alerts for a long time now and I had no idea of the terrible mudslide that was happening just seven miles from our house.
The next day I would learn of the horrible tragedy in Montecito.
It’s hard to grasp. I’ve read the stories and looked at the pictures, but I still can’t fathom it.
What if you are the best mom there is for your kids, what if I’m the best for mine?
What if we really believed that?
I remember when our first son was just a baby, I was talking to a seasoned mom of three. I was strung out on new mom anxiety and was stressing about everything from nursing schedules, to mysterious skin rashes. She looked at me kindly, “Ya know, it seems like you’re really worried about doing things the ‘right way’, but parenting isn’t that complicated. You don’t need to read every book there is, trust your gut, love them, you aren’t going to mess this up.”
I remember nodding at her politely and thinking, ARE YOU INSANE??? I AM NOT TO BE TRUSTED!! I CANNOT EVEN KEEP MY CLOSET CLEAN OR REMEMBER TO SHAVE MY ARMPITS!
Nothing makes me feel quite as overwhelmed as the words “enjoy every minute”.
Like do you mean right now while my kid is spread eagle on the Target floor demanding a slushy? Do you mean when I make dinner and half of the family is crying because it looks weird? Do you mean when I clean the toilets and I wonder how the pee reached the corner under the trash can?
I can do it; it’s worth it. But enjoying every minute is a different type of pressure.
In truth, there are a whole lot of minutes I feel annoyed or tired.