Have I mentioned that among all of Sam's words, "Mama" is one of them? Never mind that he hasn't quite figured out how to use it. He calls me "Mama" when he is looking for me. He calls Matt "Mama" when he is looking for him. I think "Mama" is simply his word for whatever adult he wishes were paying attention to him in the moment. And he usually uses the word when he's asking for something. :)
Being "Mama" - being a mother - is still all a jumble of things for me. I was thinking about it yesterday.
Monday morning felt like Monday morning. It was a little too rushed, we were all a little too tired and sluggish and not quite ready to start the week. There are mornings where Sam's 6:30 a.m. get-up time seems fine, and other mornings when I grumble and wish he could stay asleep until 7:00 a.m. Some mornings, it takes a lot of energy to do all of the things that need to happen to get myself and Sam ready for the day, especially since he is in a phase right now where he always wants a pacifier, but only the right one, and where he hates diaper changes and fights them with all of his twisty, kicky, surprisingly strong little body. By the time I got him snapped into his car seat, I was thinking nice thoughts about how I'd drop him off at daycare and then have a full day to myself. I mean, there was plenty of work to do and plenty of people to deal with. But I drove to Sunflower ready to have a little grown-up time after a full and lovely weekend of playing with Sam and hosting family.
I dropped him off, and his teacher sang "The Wheels on the Bus" for him, effectively distracting him so that I could leave the room unnoticed, without any tears on Sam's part.
And darn it all if, by the time I got to the parking lot, I already missed Sam and wished I could sit and read and play and snuggle with him all day.
Here's a true statement: I love being Sam's mama. I love this child in ways that surprise me and sneak up on me.
Here's another true statement: I feel guilty often because I don't love being a mama (in general) as much as it seems many other mothers do.
Let me explain, if I can.
When I am being "Mama" to Sam, my world revolves around him. I love this. And I also sometimes get a little trapped by it. There's a reason that we walk to Magpie for breakfast every Friday morning (my day off). It's because it gets us out of the house, and it is something that we get to do together, and it strikes a balance between doing something for him, doing something for me, and doing something for us, all at the same time.
My biggest struggle with maternity leave was feeling trapped and lonely. And echoes of those fears still sometimes show up. Matt is gone at a conference right now - I was on my own with Sam last evening, overnight, and will be on my own with Sam this afternoon, through dinner, and past bedtime. Of course I'm capable of caring for Sam alone. Of course I'm capable of playing with him and singing with him and bathing him and feeding him, and of course we will have lots of fun together. But there is still a maternity-leave-ghost in my head that whispers, "Whoa...you're going to have more unstructured alone time with Sam than usual...doesn't that make you at all emotionally anxious?"
The answer, of course, always turns out to be "no." When I'm with Sam, spending time with him, being with him, and doing Sam stuff, I don't remember any of that anxiety. I get absorbed in the moment and feel waves of joy and love and gratitude for getting to be Sam's mama.
But I yet know that motherhood is not my only calling. There are other things in life that I enjoy doing, and other things in life that also give me a sense of purpose, and so sometimes I feel guilty for not being able to let motherhood on its own be as fulfilling as a life that includes motherhood, plus my love for music and my love for knitting, plus my sense of call and purpose in the work that I do as a pastor.
And so my life is a jumble. A pretty beautiful one. But a jumble nonetheless.
I feel my body creak, groggily, when I rescue Sam from his crib early in the morning and bring him to bed, hoping that he'll sleep past 6:30 a.m. But I also feel my heart swell as he nuzzles in next to me, or as he, even pre-dawn, sits in bed giggling and saying "meow" in an attempt to call one of the kitties up onto the bed.
I get so frustrated when he doesn't want to sit in his high chair or when he is being oppositional at breakfast. But then he smiles and asks for "na-na?" or "apples-ups" and I melt, and think to myself "If he is asking so sweetly for a banana or applesauce, why the heck would I ever say no to that?"
I look forward to daycare drop off because I do like imagining some time to do grown-up things, and I really love my vocation and the people who I serve with. But it breaks my heart when he cries when I leave. And I always miss him after I get back in the car.
I feel myself sigh at the end of dinner each night, because I know that there is a lot of energy about to be demanded of me - cleaning up Sam and his high chair, running a bath for him, getting him out of his clothes and into the water, convincing him not to drink the bath water, trying to keep him from standing up in the tub when he throws his toys out the side, getting him all wrapped up and dried off and re-diapered and into pjs, trying to clean up his toys faster than he can pull new ones out, and trying to clean up his books faster than he can pull more off the shelves, getting into the rocking chair with him and finding the right pacifier, and reading some books, and trying to figure out whether or not to nurse him if he asks for it, and sitting with him in the dark room until he seems calm enough to put into his crib without drama. And I can't wait for the hour and a half after Sam's bedtime that is my time to snack and catch up on stupid TV and sit on the couch in our newly remodeled living room. But how many nights do I linger in his room, letting him sleep on me in the rocking chair for a full half-hour before I put him in his crib, because he's so snuggly and sweet and everything that we had hoped for and dreamed of for so many years...
Friends, I am never going to write that viral post that shows up in your Facebook feed, declaring that motherhood is everything I'd ever dreamed of and more, and how being a mama fulfills me in ways that I hadn't ever imagined, and how could I want to be anything else but a mother...
And I am never going to write that viral post declaring that motherhood is hard and that you're not alone if you struggle with it and don't feel put down by stay-at-home moms or supermoms or Pinterest moms.
Because I don't fit in either of those camps. I want to love being a mother (in general). But all that really matters is that I love being mama to my Sammy. And I love it enough that I am all in on trying to do this all over again, knowing and trusting that I will love being mama to any and all of my future children.
So that is what it is like inside my head these days. Loving to bits this little blonde guy who shrieks and runs around and sings "The Wheels on the Bus." And always grappling with the new realities - good, bad, and other - that come with this ongoing transition from not being mama to being mama.
Being "Mama" - being a mother - is still all a jumble of things for me. I was thinking about it yesterday.
Monday morning felt like Monday morning. It was a little too rushed, we were all a little too tired and sluggish and not quite ready to start the week. There are mornings where Sam's 6:30 a.m. get-up time seems fine, and other mornings when I grumble and wish he could stay asleep until 7:00 a.m. Some mornings, it takes a lot of energy to do all of the things that need to happen to get myself and Sam ready for the day, especially since he is in a phase right now where he always wants a pacifier, but only the right one, and where he hates diaper changes and fights them with all of his twisty, kicky, surprisingly strong little body. By the time I got him snapped into his car seat, I was thinking nice thoughts about how I'd drop him off at daycare and then have a full day to myself. I mean, there was plenty of work to do and plenty of people to deal with. But I drove to Sunflower ready to have a little grown-up time after a full and lovely weekend of playing with Sam and hosting family.
I dropped him off, and his teacher sang "The Wheels on the Bus" for him, effectively distracting him so that I could leave the room unnoticed, without any tears on Sam's part.
And darn it all if, by the time I got to the parking lot, I already missed Sam and wished I could sit and read and play and snuggle with him all day.
Here's a true statement: I love being Sam's mama. I love this child in ways that surprise me and sneak up on me.
Here's another true statement: I feel guilty often because I don't love being a mama (in general) as much as it seems many other mothers do.
Let me explain, if I can.
When I am being "Mama" to Sam, my world revolves around him. I love this. And I also sometimes get a little trapped by it. There's a reason that we walk to Magpie for breakfast every Friday morning (my day off). It's because it gets us out of the house, and it is something that we get to do together, and it strikes a balance between doing something for him, doing something for me, and doing something for us, all at the same time.
My biggest struggle with maternity leave was feeling trapped and lonely. And echoes of those fears still sometimes show up. Matt is gone at a conference right now - I was on my own with Sam last evening, overnight, and will be on my own with Sam this afternoon, through dinner, and past bedtime. Of course I'm capable of caring for Sam alone. Of course I'm capable of playing with him and singing with him and bathing him and feeding him, and of course we will have lots of fun together. But there is still a maternity-leave-ghost in my head that whispers, "Whoa...you're going to have more unstructured alone time with Sam than usual...doesn't that make you at all emotionally anxious?"
The answer, of course, always turns out to be "no." When I'm with Sam, spending time with him, being with him, and doing Sam stuff, I don't remember any of that anxiety. I get absorbed in the moment and feel waves of joy and love and gratitude for getting to be Sam's mama.
But I yet know that motherhood is not my only calling. There are other things in life that I enjoy doing, and other things in life that also give me a sense of purpose, and so sometimes I feel guilty for not being able to let motherhood on its own be as fulfilling as a life that includes motherhood, plus my love for music and my love for knitting, plus my sense of call and purpose in the work that I do as a pastor.
And so my life is a jumble. A pretty beautiful one. But a jumble nonetheless.
I feel my body creak, groggily, when I rescue Sam from his crib early in the morning and bring him to bed, hoping that he'll sleep past 6:30 a.m. But I also feel my heart swell as he nuzzles in next to me, or as he, even pre-dawn, sits in bed giggling and saying "meow" in an attempt to call one of the kitties up onto the bed.
I get so frustrated when he doesn't want to sit in his high chair or when he is being oppositional at breakfast. But then he smiles and asks for "na-na?" or "apples-ups" and I melt, and think to myself "If he is asking so sweetly for a banana or applesauce, why the heck would I ever say no to that?"
I look forward to daycare drop off because I do like imagining some time to do grown-up things, and I really love my vocation and the people who I serve with. But it breaks my heart when he cries when I leave. And I always miss him after I get back in the car.
I feel myself sigh at the end of dinner each night, because I know that there is a lot of energy about to be demanded of me - cleaning up Sam and his high chair, running a bath for him, getting him out of his clothes and into the water, convincing him not to drink the bath water, trying to keep him from standing up in the tub when he throws his toys out the side, getting him all wrapped up and dried off and re-diapered and into pjs, trying to clean up his toys faster than he can pull new ones out, and trying to clean up his books faster than he can pull more off the shelves, getting into the rocking chair with him and finding the right pacifier, and reading some books, and trying to figure out whether or not to nurse him if he asks for it, and sitting with him in the dark room until he seems calm enough to put into his crib without drama. And I can't wait for the hour and a half after Sam's bedtime that is my time to snack and catch up on stupid TV and sit on the couch in our newly remodeled living room. But how many nights do I linger in his room, letting him sleep on me in the rocking chair for a full half-hour before I put him in his crib, because he's so snuggly and sweet and everything that we had hoped for and dreamed of for so many years...
Friends, I am never going to write that viral post that shows up in your Facebook feed, declaring that motherhood is everything I'd ever dreamed of and more, and how being a mama fulfills me in ways that I hadn't ever imagined, and how could I want to be anything else but a mother...
And I am never going to write that viral post declaring that motherhood is hard and that you're not alone if you struggle with it and don't feel put down by stay-at-home moms or supermoms or Pinterest moms.
Because I don't fit in either of those camps. I want to love being a mother (in general). But all that really matters is that I love being mama to my Sammy. And I love it enough that I am all in on trying to do this all over again, knowing and trusting that I will love being mama to any and all of my future children.
So that is what it is like inside my head these days. Loving to bits this little blonde guy who shrieks and runs around and sings "The Wheels on the Bus." And always grappling with the new realities - good, bad, and other - that come with this ongoing transition from not being mama to being mama.
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