Dear Mama,
Yep. You are in a hard spot. You are. Don’t look around and compare your life to anyone else’s and don’t tell yourself, “she is nailing it. I am failing it.” because your view through her window is just a tiny glimpse into her world.
It’s hard. Having a little one, no matter how “good” or “easy” that little one is, is challenging. You lose sleep. Sanity. Time. Money. And some of your self.
You are tired. No. You are exhausted. You wake up tired and you fall into bed tired. You wake up in the night groggily walking between rooms. Tending to mouths that need to be fed, monsters that need to be chased, and humans that need your comfort. You lay there, at times, hoping that if you lay a little longer, they’ll close their eyes again, without needing mama’s reassuring presence. You lay there counting the amount of minutes you still have to get your own eyelids to close so you can magically wake up feeling refreshed, even though it feels like it’s been years since that has happened.
You know. You know this is the good stuff. The three year old is saying funny things. The baby is well, your baby. The one in your stomach is getting just a smidgen of your attention because well, the other two are needier on the daily.
You are trying to coordinate swim lessons or hangouts or appointments. Your hair has been neglected for 80 years. You eat whatever they don’t off their lunch plates as you stand up at the counter, wiping down the crumbs and making your to-do list that you know will never be to-done.
You haven’t had a real date night that didn’t include a kid’s meal in four score and seven. The only romancing the bone that is going down in your bedroom happens on the off chance that you and your love see one another post-shower before you have been all touched out by a wee one who just wants mama. And sexy is a word that you want to murder when you see headlines of “getting your body back” or “staying sexy in motherhood.”
This place is hard, mama. You don’t feel like you are a singular human anymore. You feel like you and your littles are one inseparable entity. And while you know that you absolutely love and adore them, you also want to poop without someone coming in to assess your progress.
You are a mama. And you are stretched thin in the throes of Littles. You feel like you didn’t remember being so tired when you had your first. But you know you certainly had to have been. Maybe I’m just older? Maybe I’m just not that good at this? When you’re tired your mind goes a million different places… that you’re not giving each child what they need… that they will only know a mama who gets short with them or is a mess. You are in the land of Little People and you feel like perhaps, you will always feel like you can’t have a you any longer. You see other people who don’t seem frazzled like you. And maybe they’re not. But you’re afraid you will never find it all easy again.
But. You will.
I can’t tell you when. It’s different for everyone. I can’t tell you how. It’s different for every woman. I can’t tell you why. But it will click into place and you. will. breathe. A bit in exhaustion. A bit in relief. A bit in a way of thinking, “hell yes. I. Am. Wonder. Woman.” It will steady. It will.
You will have girls’ nights again, you will drink a glass of wine and not fall asleep, you will have a part of the day that is just yours — that isn’t at work, you will go on dates with your spouse, you will possible even go to the bathroom alone {still waiting on this…;)}…
And then, you’ll be sitting on the couch, drinking your coffee, planning your workout time for the day, hauling the kids to Target, sitting by the pool as they splash about and you will think, that was good. And this is, too. That hard part… I did that. And I will savor this little sweet spot for a moment before it all speeds up again.
There is a moment. A breath. I am in it. After a time of three babes in 5 years. After a time of colicky infants. Premie after premie. Special diets. Sleepless years. Feeling like I may never have a moment where I’m not being touched, licked, held onto, shouted at, requested, or feeding someone {and no. that’s not bedroom talk;)}… after all that, I am in a clearing. A place where I am so happy to have “put in the ground work” so I could be here, enjoying the coast. If even just for a moment in time.
Mama… you’ve got this. Yes. Your hands are full. But so is your future.
You will sleep again. You will have a smaller bag. Your hip will be bare. And while you will miss where you currently are, you will also know that it was good for its reason. Season. And time. And you will thank your lucky stars that your full hands have also filled your heart and your world, so ridiculously much.
XO-
Ashli
