The Phases of Motherhood

This post has been hanging out in the back of my mind for awhile now. It just wont leave me alone so I guess I'll write it even though I feel under qualified and under researched. I would've liked to have taken a poll from friends and acquaintances, all in different stages of being a mom to see what kind of new things I could learn. But if I ever want to see this post actually come to fruition, that will have to wait a bit. So you have to do with my own thoughts/experience about the phases we go through as moms.

As parents we are usually thinking about the phases and growth our children are going through without much thought about our own life stages. For our kids, we expect the standard cycle of newborn, toddler, preschooler, child, pre teen, teen, young adult and hopefully, eventually mature adult. But adults go through stages (and stages within stages) too although they may not be as clearly outlined. Lately I've been thinking a lot about how my mothering shifted and changed over time. (Now I only have ten years under my belt, so older moms bear with me and please feel free to add any valuable insight!)

My experience is slightly different from most I would say because I started out bearing the name "mom" before I turned 20. So I was immature and knew pretty much nothing about putting someone else's needs before my own. I can remember how jolting this was at first and how hard I fought to hold on to my independence. I did not want to give up the life I had before I became a mother. I still wanted to go out with friends every night, go to parties and clubs, and dress like I had no business dressing, mama or not. After I realized that this old life just wasn't meshing well with my new role I calmed down a bit. After getting married and committing to be at home full time I entered the phase I like to call "The OCD Phase."

Entering this phase was not intentional in the least, like I said at this point I knew zero about being a mother or that I would even go through phases. However, something unexpected happened to me that first year with my lovely baby girl. I didn't realize it at the time but we had become woven together like the threads of a piece of fabric even though we were not physically joined anymore. Once I opened my eyes to it, I began seeing bits of my Creator sprinkled all over this new creation like fairy dust. I was so enamored with her, I became obsessed with her and the part I played in her life. Everything was about her. My identity melted into hers and hers into mine. This blurry line between the two of us meant that some of my own insecurities fell onto her. She had to look perfect all the time, she was so beautiful and amazing to me I wanted to make sure no one else missed out because she had food on her face or her clothes didn't match. That meant I needed to be the one to do everything for her. My husband, my mother, other meaningful helpers that I should of taken advantage of were often met with, "I can do it." Even if I was exhausted, "I can do it."

This drive for perfection was partly the culprit for continuing to stay home and also choosing homeschooling for her early years. This meant a ton of one on one time for me and my daughter. I know this played a part in developing her into the strong and confident little woman she is today. However, on the down side I also unintentionally transferred some of my well intended yet perfectionist tendencies to her and on some days her strong will can resemble defiance. (Shocking, I know, a pre teen showing defiance?!) But that's ok. She is human and I know that now.

Somewhere along the way I began to grow tired and ask myself "why?" As she grew, I became more secure in my motherhood and loosened up a bit. About that time, the birth of my second child came came crashing into reality. With this tiny man child came a whirlwind blowing across life that I'm not sure I have ever quite recovered from. He stole my heart as it stretched wide enough to accommodate him. You never know the love you can pour out until it is required of you. Even with the stretching, this little superhero seemed to take off running from the womb. He was and is constant motion. His energy never wanes and I am constantly playing catch up.  This tiny man has the stamina and determination of a soldier, only he takes orders from no one. Once he mastered the run I was chasing him everywhere, through the grocery store, across the entire acreage of the zoo, and even out the front door into the street a couple of times.

With this whirlwind known as typical boy stuff, I entered the phase of burnout. I could never parent him the same way I did his older sis because I just couldn't catch him. People gawk when I don't make him sit at the table or put him on a leash (which I tried, I honestly did, and it lasted all of two seconds). There was and is no pushing perfectionism or unrealistic expectations onto my son even if I had the energy to. Potty training and learning shapes and working through his temper would all just come in their own time not because that is the healthy approach but because there was really no other way. So admittedly, I kind of just gave up. Which had it's pros and cons. Pro: I lowered my standards and became more flexible. Not in pushover way but in a way that has made me better at choosing my battles. Con: I became critical or doubtful of advice or parenting articles/books and generally held disdain for those who were still in the stage I was in previously. Not to mention the fact, that it seemed there was no advice or technique that would work for whatever his current dilemma was. "Oh, explaining all the good this nasty cherry medicine will do for your child convinced her to take it? Mine spits it back in my face even if it's in a vat of chocolate. What's that? you potty trained in three days? Mine took two years and I still have to beg him to go." I had to figure out discipline and development and ways to relate to him pretty much from scratch (and still am). This meant a lot of trial and error, leaning more toward error on most days. Too much of this trying and failing and negativity combined with the burnout of chasing a toddler tornado day in and day out left me feeling kind of hopeless and not really enjoying motherhood as I did before (if you couldn't tell from my above cynicism).

While this was a quite a heavy season for me, it was also a slow springboard into finding my way back to "me." This is where I am at currently, and when I say slow, I mean slow. So slow I really cant even pinpoint when it first started happening or why. I think it came in bits and pieces.  At first the paints and canvases started to come out again. Splashing and swiping and creating across a perfect blank white was so therapeutic to me. Then came the writing, instead of just pulling out the journal when I needed to vent, I wrote to express all kinds of things. Descriptions and drawings and ideas and dreams filled the lines of my journals again.  I started paying attention to myself and
allowing feelings I had always pushed away because "good mothers don't feel like that." I let go of my identity in reference to someone else and started to re-form my own.  I also started to make room for relationships. Not just play dates where we only talked about kids, but real live conversations with other women who were going through the same thing I was. I also experimented with being a student to people who were in a totally different stages of life.  I let myself have friends and mentors and stopped saying, "I'm too busy." I got really interested in the concept of community and how that grows us as individuals.  I let myself become passionate about something outside my sphere of comfort and it led me to fly around the world to Bangkok, Thailand to work with girls caught up in the sex trade, an experience I would trade for nothing and can only wish to match in the future. (Here's an awesome blog that tells all about it, if this piques your interest!) All of these things gradually built into me, not just as a mom but as a woman. I'm still reaching out and climbing that mountain of self discovery daily.

For those of you thinking, well all that sounds wonderful but it also sounds a wee bit on the selfish side. After all, isn't motherhood a ministry of sacrifice and service? I would say that's only part of the equation. I actually see so much more of that selfish teenager rearing her ugly head when I don't make room for myself in motherhood.  Something it took me way too long to figure out is that taking good care of others requires a stable person, aka someone who takes care of themselves too. Some one who has sensible boundaries and at least a semi firm grasp of their own identity. If I want that for my kids, I have to first be that myself.  Leaning into my own individuality has also given me permission to see and appreciate my children's individuality. I can like them, not just love them, and anticipate what the future of motherhood holds for me instead of dreading it.

I still have days where I let my inner critic peek through or I meander down a path of feeling discouraged because nothing seems to work. I have however come to the realization that maybe parenting isn't about finding things that "work." After all my children aren't robots that I can program to be a certain way. Just because I plug in certain techniques doesn't mean they will respond the way I hope they will. They are humans with free will and unique personalities that have shown through from the moment their newborn screams pierced the air in the delivery room. Even though they are still learning and developing, they are their own little people and the part I play in that is transforming with each phase that they pass through. And it's perfectly o.k. to figure things out as we go. And to have fun and make messes and do things the "wrong" way. It's o.k. to say, "I'm sorry, lets try again." And it is more than o.k. to let go of the fear that drives us into gloomy or defeated places as moms and to take steps away from it. Your husband, your kids, and generations to come will thank you for it.  Here is an article that I often refer back to because it resonated with me deeply during a time when I was feeling frustrated that I couldn't run off and be an artist or a missionary. It helped me articulate those frustrations and begin learning how to balance motherhood with passion, a dance I am still learning the steps to.

I hope this stirs some thoughts about your own journey through motherhood, it always helps to recognize where we have been and where we are, holding onto to the hope that we are always changing and evolving as caretakers to our precious little ones, but more importantly as women. I love to know that I'm not just raising my kids but that they are also raising and maturing me. I know there are lots of other phases, probably even some in my own life that I haven't realized. From empty nesters, to mothers suffering loss or parents of children's with special needs, to raising multiples or families with six or seven kids, our experiences are all so different and unique yet tied together with the common thread of love. We all want to be the very best we can for our kids. We need grace and understanding and encouragement for each other in this sisterhood of being called "mom." Because we are all in different places at different times with different children. Compare, contrast, get advice, yes, but most of all fuse the mothers around you with courage and strength and assure them that they are doing just fine, whatever phase they might be going through. 

Thanks for reading today,

Jenna

Losing the Hurry Up Habit

Shew. It has been a crunched couple of weeks.

I volunteered for lunch duty all last week and let me tell you, one little itty bitty hour can make an amazing difference in your day! In this case, I was losing an hour that would have otherwise been free time. So for that reason among others time has felt a little slippery as of late.

It feels as if I can't catch up or take the time for self care to write or sleep or just be. I always feel a little un-grounded when there is no white space in my schedule.  It feels like I'm running in circles all day, checking off box after box, until I am completely depleted and fall into bed only to get up and start the whole process again. It feels like there could never be enough time in the day to fit what needs to fit.

If I live like this for any extended period of time, I find myself rushing and hurrying even when it's not necessary. I feel like I am always on the clock and always need to be prepared. I think part of this is due to having young children. They will make you crazy. You are always having to anticipate their next move so they do not injure themselves or anyone within a five foot radius. They may eat something poisonous or climb a bookshelf or escape out the front door. You must constantly be on guard. I may be exaggerating, I often do, but at any rate this makes me want to always be two steps ahead. Yet sometimes I find myself thinking, "What's the rush?" I first started noticing this when my oldest was constantly asking me, "Mom, is there time to ___?" I would think, "Were just going to the park/for a walk/some other leisurely activity, yes there's time, why is she asking me this?" Oh. Probably because I seem like I'm always hustling to catch the next flight or something.  Then the youngest child has zero concept of time, in his world there is always time.

Time is funny like that. It has always been a boggling concept to me. I hear the clock ticking in my ear as I type, the clacking of the key board filling in the gaps between the seconds.  Sometimes the hands on the clock seem so unwilling to move, like they just won't budge no matter how many times you glance up at them. I suppose that's when our mind is in anticipation mode, like waiting for the work day to end or for a party to start. Yet other times we lose track of those spinning hands altogether and wonder how the seconds, minutes, hours, have escaped our grip as if we had actually had one to begin with. This is usually the result of hustling through our days, never slowing down. In retrospect, time just shrinks. The mere idea of the past just makes time feel like sand slipping through our fingers. I think of the first year of a baby's life. Some of those days seem excruciatingly long, but when you look back it's always, "where did the time go?"

Then there are times that are neither here nor there, when we are so aware of a particular moment that time seems to stand still. We wish we could hit the pause button and hold on to that moment forever.  We can revisit a moment so often in our heart and mind that it stays with us forever. I suppose the smartphone and the ability to take a picture of any given scene throughout the day has capitalized on moments like this. There are some pictures I look through that make me laugh out loud every time I look at them and some that make me shed a tear or two every time I see it.  But even then, nothing compares to being in that moment with all your senses present and experiencing the full emotion and wonder of it.

I was lucky enough to have one such moment with my little guy the other night. Although, it definitely didn't start out too special.

He was having a rather difficult time settling after a busy day.   He had been walking all over downtown with dad, to orange leaf and the spray ground. It was one of those times where trying to wear your child out backfires into a sleepy, grumpy fit before bedtime. He is stiff as board as I carry him up the stairs, protesting the entire way. "I'm not sleepy, I'm not sleepy!" After wrestling him into some mismatched pj's, he refuses to lay in bed but insists on continuing his fit on the floor directly beside his bed. I try to hold him, soothe him, get him to put his little arms around my neck. He wants no part in cuddling at the moment. After trying to persuade him for a few minutes I can see my efforts are getting me  nowhere. Normally, at this point in the game I would sadly say, "Okay, have it your way," and walk out of the room in hopes that removing his audience would make the tirade cease. Really, this is my white flag move, I give up, "just cry yourself to sleep on the floor" I think.  But for some reason, even though I was quite exhausted myself, I just stop. Instead of trying to tune into my "parenting instincts" (aka how I could manipulate him into sleeping) I try instead to tune into his feelings.This can be such an easy thing to forget to do in the heat of a power struggle with a little one. More often than not, I am focused on "winning" which usually results in a prolonged conflict.

"I know you wanted to stay awake and finish your movie," I whisper into his ear as he is face down screaming into the floor. "I know you don't want to go to bed right now.

"No I DON'T!" he confirms. "I don't want to go to bed, I'm not sleepy!"

I put my hand on his back and try to soak in the frustration he is feeling right now. I know he is tired and his little brain is having trouble switching off.

"Let's talk about your day," I offer. "You had so much fun with daddy. Did you run through the water together? Was it cold today?"

 I rub his back. He is still crying but less defiant. I feel him relax just slightly. I help him turn over.

I look in his eyes,"Were there other kids playing in water too?"

"Yeah..."His bottom lip quivers but his words fall short. More tears.

That's when the fireworks start sounding the end of the baseball game across the river. It's Friday, so I know it will be a long show. I ask if he wants to see them. We watch out his window looking through the tree that sheds little yellow leaves all over our back patio. His little head with his little boy smell falls to my shoulder.

 "What flavor did you get at Orange Leaf? Chocolate?" I continue our conversation from earlier.

"Nooo, I got orange," he whimpers.

"Did you put gummy worms on top? Sprinkles?" I ask still hoping to engage him.

The fireworks still booming in the background.

"Mom, I can sleep through the fireworks if you sit with me.."

"You can?" I turn from the window and place him in his bed.

He nods, "If you sit with me.." He says and he snuggles down and closes his eyes. Before I know it, his breathing slows and he is completely passed out. I am utterly relieved.

Yet for whatever reason, I have this new found patience and instead of crawling into my own bed or camping out in front of Netflix, I just stay. I watch his little chest rise and fall. I brush his still baby soft hair across his forehead. I take in all his little features and just pray that I can capture this moment forever. That I can have the stillness of heart and slowness of deed to find more of these moments. I stayed by his side relishing in this small victory of peace for what seemed like hours. Maybe this doesn't seem like a big deal, but have you ever rocked a fussy infant to sleep and just felt the pure satisfaction of their own peace? If so, then you can relate!

In the last year or so I have been trying to practice the art of going slow, especially when it comes to my kids. I got so tired of going through life wishing it away. Tired of counting down the hours until my husband would come home, desperate for relief and the company of another adult. Wishing the weekend would come, only to have it whiz by in a blink. Hoping the next stage of childhood would hurry up because I wasn't enjoying the current one my child happened to be on that much. Rushing through errands and cooking and cleaning and bedtime stories just so I could get to the next thing on the agenda. (Sleep!) Learning the art of slow, intentional living was foreign to me. I had no idea where or how to start, only that I needed to.

How do you slow down time?

How many moments of bliss, like the night of the fireworks fit, had I missed because I hadn't taken the time to notice that they were there?

Is it too late for me already? Can I re-learn how to look at those hands whirling around the clock?

I know I am not alone in this quest and am so thankful for the resources that helped me answer these questions. I still go back to their words and drink in their blogs like water on a hot day. The first one is Hands Free Mama (if you read parenting blogs/books at all I am sure you are familiar with Rachel Mary Stafford, who is coming out with book #2 next year).  Rachael's philosophy is all about letting go of the distractions in our life, be it our phones, our calendars, or even our overly critical perfectionist preferences so that we are wide open to receive all of life's little blissful moments. I have gleaned so much from her words as she shares her own personal journey of slowing down.

The other advocate of slow living that I really enjoy reading is the poetic Ann Voskamp. In her book "1000 Gifts" Ann learns to count the simple joy filled moments through her day and jots them down in a gratitude journal. By purposefully increasing her gratitude, she learned how to see life through a different lens and look for these moments as if she were mining for rare gems. (Side note: I don't always agree with Ann's theology, but since she is such a fabulous writer I overlook it:)

So, if you have ever asked yourself any of the above questions or even just feel like time is not your friend, you could benefit from the wisdom of these ladies. I know I have, but I still have a long way to go. It's so easy to rush through life and never take the time to notice all the beauty and joy that is lying in wait for us. I hope that once I practice it enough, it will become second nature to me and I will no longer look at the hands on the clock with dread. I can slow the rush and put down my distractions and stop being so preoccupied with what the next moment might hold. Instead, I can be fully present in each moment wondering what gift may await here and now.

Take it slow today,

Jenna