Things have been hard lately here on Woodburn Drive. Very, very hard. I often feel like I am just beating my head against a stone wall day after day. Truly, I think that sometimes it would be a much more attractive fate for me to just be run through with swords.
But, I cannot be – and I never am – ungrateful for my role as a mother. Likewise, I am very fortunate that I have the opportunity to be a stay-at-home mom. Yes – it is hard. No – it isn’t glamorous. But it is the toughest job I’ll ever love.
Being a mom – especially one who stays at home – is never dull, but it can be drab. Well – the majority of the time it is very, very drab, indeed. My connection with the outside world is somewhat limited. I may get to take a shower today – maybe not. Either way, I probably won’t be able to tend to my hair until two days later, by which time it will be an unruly rat’s nest (more than likely with inhabitants of some sort, like a dust bunny or Cheerio). Etcetera.
I try very hard not to complain. I remember distinctly the days that I used to dream for a child of my own – willing to trade any convenience or any amount of valued time. And, honestly, the sacrifices that I make on an hourly basis really mean very little when compared with the rewards. Of course, my pre-parenthood romantic fantasies were a little far-fetched – but not in the way you would think. I wasn’t the least bit concerned about the lack of sleep and mommy-brain that I knew were forthcoming, for instance. No – I actually thought that my child would be quiet and mild-mannered. What a notion.
No. Things – from the beginning – were not how I had always envisioned them. My pre-pregnancy mind and heart were troubled. My pregnancy was very difficult. Fairly uncomplicated, but physically challenging and very hard. My delivery – although brief – was severe. The first five months of parenthood were horrendously grueling as I had a child who did not eat well or sleep – at all. True, I didn’t have time to process very much in those early days. And, as a result, I have hit that baby-blues stage about a year-and-a-half late.
Yet, again, I tried – and continue to try – very hard not to complain. Despite being so ill through my entire pregnancy that I could not even keep down water – I was grateful to be expecting a child. Always. Even though I was in a great deal of pain – I enjoyed my pregnancy and the knowledge that my body was participating in such a beautiful thing. When the arrhythmia was found in my unborn child’s heartbeat, I tried to keep my faith, though it was hard – because I had a special knowledge that this spirit was supposed to be here right now, and that Heavenly Father would provide a way for him to be born. I think that it was that faith that prevented me from becoming dehydrated and kept me healthy. It was that faith that kept me well for at least ten minutes so that I could get to and from work. It was that faith that got me up our stairs at the end of the day. It was that faith that buoyed me through that hard labor. It was that faith that helped me survive those first months. It is the faith that sustains me today.
Yes – it is my job. And I like it fine… no one has a better job than mine.
Forgive me for getting personal. I know of many people that currently desire children of their own. Individuals who probably would give anything for one. I’ve wanted to consider their feelings during this time of year as we celebrate motherhood, and have debated whether or not to post these thoughts. But, they are my thoughts and they have been running through my mind a lot lately. Honestly, they have been desperately trying to break free. Not because of Mother’s Day – because mothers should be honored the whole year through. No – simply because of what I have been coping with personally lately, trying to find ‘that’ balance and the strength to be the mother that I need to be. And should be, because I should never take this calling for granted. I know that children are special blessings from our loving Father in Heaven. I know that they are sent to the earth when it is ready for them – when their sweet spirits are supposed to be here and not there.
Yes – mothers should be celebrated, honored and put on pedestals all the year through. We are important people to our Heavenly Father. But so are those women who do not have children of their own at this specific time. We all have special gifts that we bring to the table of life – we are all nurturers of the heart. We all do much to raise and teach this next generation. So, Mother’s Day is for all of us – not just a special few.
Suffice it to say, I’ve been blessed. Despite the hard. And I need to find joy in the journey, during the journey.
The other night, out of the blue (for the first time in about a year), I sang this song to a very fussy Ammon. I sang it to him on the night he was born. I sang it to him as a lullaby nearly every night during those first tumultuous months. It’s always been one of my favorites. It brings back happy memories from my childhood. Little did I know all those years ago – as I was Eliza Doolittle in my tin foil tiara – that this same song would take on a whole new meaning for me later in life.
I have often walked down this street before;
but the pavement always stayed beneath my feet before.
All at once am I several stories high,
knowing I'm on the street where you live.
Are there lilac trees in the heart of town?
Can you hear a lark in any other part of town?
Does enchantment pour out of ev'ry door?
No, it's just on the street where you live!
And oh! The towering feeling,
just to know somehow you are near.
The overpowering feeling
that any second you may suddenly appear!
People stop and stare.
They don't bother me.
For there's no where else on earth that I would rather be.
Let the time go by,
I won't care if I can be here on the street where you live.
