This post starts grumbly, but it doesn't end that way. Stick with me...
I spent the weekend in and out of bed with two kids with change-of-season bugs.
Oh, come now. Both of them? Over the actual equinox? How punctual we are.
Now it's Monday morning and I both feel and look like death after spending most of the past three nights tending fevers and oogie bellies; rubbing sore heads, back, hands, etc.; and running up and down the stairs for bags of ice, hankies, and puke pails.
Sleeping? Not so much.
Oh, motherhood. Thanks for keeping me humble.
At around 3:27 AM this morning I had this delusional moment of self-pity when I remembered what it was like to have a sick baby and pretended that that was somehow easier.
Because I could latch that little one on and go back to sleep.
Except when I couldn't.
And then I'd tuck an arching and screaming babe into a sling - too congested or miserable to nurse - and wander the neighborhood, diluting their cries into the cool night air. And sometimes my own.
And now here we are.
Big kids.
And autumn.
And while the seasons of our life change, the essence is always the same.
It's about nurturing. Loving. Being real.
It's about pushing the limits of what you can give while still remembering to take care of you. (That one has taken me a while to learn.)
I remember when Sage was a baby and life felt so hard, all I wanted was to fix it. To fix him.
If I did this right he would stop crying. If I tended that need it would be easy. If I stopped eating those foods or found the right remedy or the new magical hold for burping.
Then it would be easy. We'd find our groove.
But then my midwife (mama to many) said to me, "It will never be easy. But it will always be different."
While she was speaking specifically about mothering a highly sensitive child, her words applied to motherhood in general.
Never easy. Always different.
And I was free.
Her words freed me from my need to fix it all. To fix Sage. To fix me. To fix every hard moment.
Because life isn't meant to be easy.
It's meant to challenge us. To help us grow. To inspire us to stretch and evolve and expand and to break every boundry of what we think is possible.
And no, last night was not easy.
But it was different than those early sleepless nights. And like those early days it pushed my limits of compassion and patience and giving.
How much did I have to give?
Just barely enough.
And could I take care of me, too?
Yes. This time I could.
Never easy. Always different.
So tonight we'll pull dinner from the freezer. I'll say "yes" to reading books together, but "no" to reading one. more. book. when I need some space. And then I'll pick up my knitting instead. Maybe we'll even watch a movie.
I'll find the balance in caring for us all. Myself included.
No, it won't be easy. But it will be different.
Love,
Rachel
