The virtues of motherhood

Motherhood is refining. In a way that even marriage isn't. And boy is marriage refining. But motherhood has a way of cultivating (forcing?) virtue that is unlike anything I've experienced otherwise, and my daughter is my most effective teacher so far.

She teaches me humility. I'm sure 30 years ago, they would have just called her a slow crawler, or said that she was "moving at her own pace", but this week E was officially labeled with significant gross motor developmental delay. Seeing the check box on the physical therapy referral form dealt quite the blow to my ego, as both a mom and a pediatrician. I worry for her. I want the best for her. And yes, I want everyone to look at my child and say, "oh, how advanced she is!" But as my patient and understanding husband reminds me, this is just who she is and we love her exactly how she is. More than our pride.

She teaches me gratitude. When I'm about ready to explode because she just won't stop fussing when I set her down, or when she ruins a clean pair of pants because she can't hold onto her food, or when it's emergency bath time in the middle of the day because, poop in the hair. Just then, when my exasperation and need to control things is at a peak, her goofy little 7-tooth grin melts my heart, and I know that being a mom is one of the best things I will ever do.

She teaches me selflessness. Like it or not. Every time I'd rather take a nap, or go for a bike ride, or have a beer, or sleep in, or not wash onesies in the sink, or have control of my schedule/body/choices. I can be resentful, or I can submit and learn that it's not all about me. I don't always choose the right one. But I try.

She teaches me generosity. As an introvert, the grocery store was still one of the public errands I enjoyed. It reminded me of time with my dad. It allowed me little indulgences for under $5. And after the advent of self-check-out, I could do it all without talking to another human being. Enter the world's most social baby. She waves. at. everyone. Everyone. She smiles with her whole body and people just can't help but talk to her. The butcher. The pharmacy tech. The produce stocker. The self-checker monitor. Every retired old lady in the whole store. And so my solitary shopping trips are no more. I must stop and entertain the masses. But I can just tell it makes their day, and I certainly don't want to stifle E's magnanimity, so I'm learning to be okay with it. I can give them some of my time and energy without it killing me (at least it hasn't so far).

She teaches me flexibility. Because sometimes the nap doesn't go according to plan (like, almost always). Sometimes she just wants to play peekaboo for seven minutes (trust me, that's a long time!). Sometimes we don't make it home and end up nursing in a parking lot. Sometimes the laundry doesn't get done. Sometimes, most times, life happens, and I don't get to be in charge. Which is probably a good thing.

A priest friend of mine was recently talking to another priest friend and said, "We're too selfish. We need kids or something." Not that the ordained life doesn't have virtue-building characteristics. But there is something unique about motherhood (and fatherhood, yes, but motherhood specifically) that empties us, and fills us, unlike anything else. It's the hardest and most beautiful thing I've ever done (along with marriage, but marriage with kids is the next level). And it's definitely my path to holiness.

Mother Mary, pray for us!

Delighting in motherhood

I distinctly remember being asked, sometime when E was almost five months old, "Don't you just love being a mom?" My eyes welled up involuntarily. I paused to compose myself, then forced a smile and said, "I love her." And then I quickly changed the subject. At the time, and for much of the last year, no, no I haven't loved being a mom. My thoughts were largely occupied with how hard it was to learn so many new things, be good at none of them, have everything change constantly, lose all sense of my identity, and feel guilty for all of it.

But this past week I realized that something had changed. More importantly, I had changed. I still am learning all sorts of new things, still am not very good at most of them, everything is still changing, and my identity is still in flux. But now I am loving it.

God has given me the great grace to enjoy motherhood. I look at my baby girl, at her adorable toothy grin and crazy reddish hair, and I delight in being her mom. She charms everyone we meet, which is terrifying for an introvert like myself, because I suddenly find myself having conversations with everyone. No longer can I skate through life under the radar, avoiding human contact--she smiles all the time and draws every passerby into her little sphere of cuteness (today at the DMV, we had the whole bench laughing at her). At the same time, I love showing her off. I am so proud of her friendliness, curiosity, and expressiveness. I love watching her try new foods, discover new toys, meet new milestones. I love holding her tight and having her pat my arm and snuggle into my shoulder.

I know there will be many other times throughout her life when being a mom does not feel like one of life's greatest blessings. But today it does. And I know that it is a gift from God. And I am so grateful.

On a roll

I could blame the dearth of recent posts on many things: end-of-semester crunch for A, respiratory season making work incredibly draining, the madness of Christmas (shopping, parties, family get-togethers, etc), or sleep-training a five-month-old. Mostly that last one, and there's plenty of fodder there for its own post. But it will have to wait until some other time.

Because today! Today she rolled over! Back to front! All on her own! You guys, I was so excited I think I scared her with how loudly I yelled, "You did it!" It was several minutes before the grin faded from my face. Although I wished I could have had a video to send to Daddy, I loved that I got to be entirely present for the momentous occasion, because I wasn't expecting it at all.

We have been working on back-to-front for several weeks now. She mastered front-to-back long ago, because who wants tummy time when you can eat your feet? But I was beginning to think I'd have to trudge into her six-month visit hanging my head because she wasn't meeting her milestones on time. I could easily blame her presumably heavy 99th percentile head, or take solace in the fact that she has already developed object permanence (as she flings her toy off the high chair tray and then leans over to look for it), but she wasn't rolling, and every pediatrics intern has memorized that rolling both ways should come by six months.

I'm sure there will be milestones she doesn't meet on time, and others she flies past because she is, after all, her mother's daughter. But it probably won't have much to do with me and how much I try to motivate her. Because, that whole mother's daughter thing? Means she's stubborn too. And will do things in her own time I'm sure. And it will be perfect, just the way it is. I can't imagine watching her spell her name, or tie her shoes, or ride a bike, or score a goal, or graduate high school. The amount of pride I felt just at watching her roll over made me about burst. #therewillbetears #andallthekleenexes

Makes up for all the times I want to give her back because she wants to play at 3:30 in the morning.

Life worth living

I had started writing a post about how desperately I want the sleep situation in our house to resume some semblance of normalcy. I've been sleeping in the nursery for a few months now, trying to let my husband get some sleep and make it easier for me to nurse in the middle of the night (occasionally we'll switch spots when I'm working a few days in a row so that I can get a bit more sleep and he can do some feeds). Baby girl is a horrible napper and has taken to getting up in between feeds at night to play. And the best sleep I've gotten in weeks is either in the call room at work, or in my parents' bed while my mom watches her. Most days I feel like it will never end. If I'm honest, I've been feeling pretty sorry for myself.

Then I read this article, shared by Jenny over at Mama Needs Coffee (you should subscribe if you don't already). And it broke my heart. I kept waiting for the author to say "But then I realized that my son is beautiful and perfect and his life is worth living," but she never did. As a fairly new mom, and someone who takes care of these kids with a "terminal disease", I had to close the window before I finished reading. It made me physically sick. How anyone could think that loving someone who is suffering means trying to eliminate their very life is beyond my comprehension. It's taking our modern society's aversion to suffering to a whole new level. A sickening, despairing level.

And then this morning Jenny shared this, which sure seemed like a direct response, though it may not have been. Someone with a terminal disease choosing to celebrate her life. The same life some people might want to eliminate, for her own sake. I wanted to rub it in the first author's face. How dare you decide that your son's joys and triumphs and growth will automatically be outweighed by his suffering. But more than that, I rejoiced because there were more than malice and indignation in the response (she's a bigger person than I). There was true delight in life. She lists many things in her life that make the suffering worthwhile: "That I'm breathing...learning to knit...tickling babies...Christmas shopping...The Wizard of Oz...Elizabeth Bennet...fish and chips..." and so on.

My heart lifted as I read her list. Yes. Yes to all of it. I thought about my own preoccupation with the four month sleep regression and my fatigue, and I made my own list.

Baby giggles.

Goat cheese.

Not wearing socks in November.

My pillow.

Game-winning field goals.

Being there for a friend.

Drinking wine on the couch with my husband.

A really good massage.

Laughing until you cry. 

I mean, the list is literally endless. The number of good things in my life is un-countable. Even the list of good things born of my suffering is un-countable. Ask any mother who has gone through child birth (the author above notwithstanding).

So with some perspective tucked under my belt, do I still long for the day when I can sleep in my own bed and my daughter will sleep (even mostly) through the night? Of course. But would I trade those gummy smiles because it's hard? Not for a second. Suffering is not the worst thing in this world. And even if it were, it does not have the final word.

Today, I choose gratitude. I choose life. I choose love.

Lifeline

A few good chunks of sleep (for me, not for my insomniac daughter) and a good day for her means I have a little more reserve in my tank today than yesterday. It doesn't mean it's not still hard. In fact, days like today where more things go right than not make it even harder the next bad day, because wasn't it getting better? Nonetheless. There were less tears today (again, for me, not her), and I felt more like myself.

A big part of my ability to get through days like yesterday lies in my network of amazing mamas who are only a text or phone call away. They tell me it does get better, drive way too far to meet me for dinner, commiserate, listen to me vent, send me totally cute pictures of their little ones, and yes, even send Ben and Jerry's to my doorstep. Those are real friends, people.

When I was in the haze of the fourth trimester, these women were my lifeline. When I was housebound because nine-pound-baby-with-ninety-ninth-percentile-head-in-40-minutes-of-pushing, they texted me, brought meals, gave me padsicles (google it the next time you don't know what to bring a new mom), and generally made life more tolerable. More crucial than that, they told me that everything I was feeling was totally normal. Isolation? Normal. Inadequacy? Normal. Cabin fever? Normal. Amnesia? Normal. Guilt? Normal. Boredom? Normal. Thinking my baby was totally adorable and wanting to document every day with a dozen pictures? Normal. Resenting my husband because cluster feeding? Normal. Couldn't remember the last time I showered? Normal.

Nothing in my training as a pediatrician helped get me through those first few weeks, and every week since, but these friends did. Dads, bless their hearts, for all their rough-housing, raspberry-blowing, rub-some-dirt-in-it wonderfulness, just don't get it. But other moms do.

I told one of these great friends that just like we do safety plans for suicidal kids, making them write down the names of adults they trust that they will tell if they feel unsafe, we should make pregnant women write down the names of at least three other moms that they feel comfortable texting when they're sleep-deprived crazy zombies and thinking they're about to throw in the towel. This should be standard pregnancy care so that after delivery, it's automatic. They're already on speed dial.

I'm so, so grateful for those mamas that continue to be my lifeline (seriously, you guys, Ben and Jerry's on the front porch!), that continue to respond to my middle of the night texts, that keep telling me I'm not alone, that I'm a good mom. If you are a new mom, find those women in your life. If you were one of those women for me, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

When it's hard

I'm in the midst of some of the most trying weeks of my life. I'm going on four months now with one hand's worth of chunks of sleep greater than 4 hours. I'm working at least one day of every weekend this quarter save one, and many of those weekends, it's both days, or worse, both nights. My husband is working more than 40 hours a week in a traditional schedule for the first time since we've met. And in the midst of it all, I'm trying to keep up with the laundry, the cooking, and the shopping, not to mention some semblance of physical activity, spiritual discipline, or creative work. Many days it feels like I'm a failure on all fronts.

And in times like this, it's easy to resent the main reason why life is so hard right now. It doesn't feel okay to say it, but today, and other days, it's true: I resent my daughter. I resent the fact that her neediness means I almost never remember to brush my teeth in the morning, or that I burn half the things I cook, and the other half sit cold on the table until I have time to eat, or that I have no time to decorate our house into a home (or complete any of the dozen other projects I keep tucking away). I resent the changes in my body that bear witness to her existence. I resent the loss of autonomy, of freedom, of rest, of spontaneity. I resent that I only have 10 minutes to write because this is the 7th time today I've tried to lay her down for a nap, all without success.

And I resent the fact that I resent her. I know it's not always butterflies and sunshine, but I should have the heart to struggle. I should be able to look past the pain to the gift. Past the cross to the Resurrection. But today I can't. I don't have an answer, or a solution, or a quaint Bible verse to make it all okay. Today it's just hard to be a mom.

Suck(l)ing

Most of the time, even though I adamantly support it, I'm kind of annoyed by breastfeeding. I have to wear specific clothes and bras, always carry the nursing cover if we're out of the house, make sure I'm able to pump if I'm away from the baby for more than 4 hours, remember to take my lecithin (quite a help for clogged ducts, for those of you that care), drink more water than I'm used to, even get woken up at night when she does manage to sleep more than 5 hours because I'm full and need to pump (okay, this only happened once). Even though my waist line is getting back to normal, many of my shirts don't fit because of my much fuller chest (I know, I know, most people wouldn't consider this a problem per se, but I don't want to buy a whole new wardrobe. I hate shopping as it is.). So in many ways, I'd be more than happy to give up nursing, and look forward to July of 2018 when I can make the transition to whole milk.

And yet.

Earlier this week, I was getting ready for bed and found myself quite sad that she was already asleep by the time I got home and I wouldn't get to nurse her. Then lo and behold, she woke up right as I was turning in, and I got to hold her and caress her head while she nursed anyway. And I found myself grateful for this "annoyance." I have actually acutely felt the oxytocin release during let down, becoming suddenly overwhelmed with love for this tiny creature. I love that I get to nourish her with my very body, that I am all she needs (though she benefits greatly from a very loving and creative daddy, and very generous extended family). I love the health benefits of breastfeeding--immunity, IQ points, emotional bonding, SIDS risk reduction, etc. And yeah, the cost savings don't suck either.

In short, everything I love about breastfeeding is because it's what is best for my daughter. And everything I loathe about breastfeeding is a hindrance to my convenience and lifestyle choices. It's a perfect microcosm of life as a mom in general, the sacrificing of much lesser goods for a much, much greater good. The laying down of what I want for the good of a very tiny other. And aside from all the benefits, is probably why God designed it this way from the beginning. So that I'm reminded every day that it's not about me or what I want. Like most things.

Turns out God is pretty smart after all.