On My Mind: Thoughts on a Beach in Cancun

​This blog has been quiet. Eerily quiet. I started it to record memories that I knew would fade with time as I know myself and the lack of long term memory I have been given. I have tried several times within the last few months to sit and write but I could never truly put into words exactly how I was feeling. I was depressed and sometimes the words sounded more encouraging than I could bear to swallow. I was constantly reminded of how insanely blessed I am and the words would feel too self defeating to publish. The truth of the matter is that since I have decided to stay home, my expectations have not met the reality of what I have experienced.

​I thought I was leaving my job to become the most wonderful mother there ever was. I truly believed I would finally be able to get my children on some kind of schedule that would allow time for educational moments, home tending and ample play time. I blindly forgot that I would need to allow time for tantrums (and oh the tantrums of a three year old) and illness. Within the first month of staying home my son developed his first of three double ear infections that would occur over a three week period, ultimately resulting in surgery involving adenoid removal and tube insertion. For a 10 month old baby! He changed from an easy to please child to needing me more than I thought I had time to give. I had forgotten the lesson I had learned from Rivers is that there is no constant with children. They will continuously change their personalities, sleep and eating habits and leave you guessing incessantly.

​And Rivers, bless her little soul but she was just not ready to fully commit to potty training. She was wearing underwear and performing all pees wonderfully but the other situation was a battle and per my pediatricians recommendation we let her use pull ups during those moments she needed it. She was to continue in the 2 year old class at pre-school for the entire year because of how her birthday falls and so she was in a class with many kids almost a year younger than her and all of her friends had moved up. She regressed emotionally. She threw tantrums of the non-speaking baby kind that made me nostalgic for the tantrums of a three year old who sometimes just simply says "No" to get you all worked up. We tried to move her up in class but they were reluctant because although she had started saving her daily constitutional for evenings, she had a one day accident when she was recovering from the flu. I fought them. Dave helped me fight them and our pediatrician urged us to fight them. We changed her from full day to half day and they agreed to let her move up. Two weeks later she was fully potty trained. Not even needing a night time pull up. But in all this time while I knew it was the right thing for my daughter to move classes I didn't fully trust myself that I was making the right decision. This parenting thing is so hard.

​My anxiety had hit an all time high and I just didn't want to continue to live each day feeling as I did. I knew how blessed I was and this created guilt for feeling the way I did which in turn produced more anxiety and I truly became a beast I did not recognize. I went to a psychiatrist who I had visited a few times before but this time when he prescribed me something, I cried and knew I would take it. I cannot explain to you my reluctance when I come from a family where my Dad would have benefitted amazingly from some medication had we been aware earlier. He would probably still be here. I think it is the mom thing. The pressure to do it all with a smile on your face. And I wasn't even doing half of what I needed to do and I definitely wasn't smiling about it. Not even two days after I started my medication I noticed a more patient version of myself appearing. The literal weight I had been feeling in my chest for weeks lightened and eventually is disappeared altogether. Rivers started to want me to put her to bed again. Gus still wanted me as usual but I was rushing to his side more quickly when he started crying rather than waiting to see if he would comfort himself. Dear God, I love these babies. I love them so much and I don't want their childhood to be marred by my shortcomings but alas I know it will in some way. And that's ok. That will give them their quirks. It may give them their compassion. It may give them a bit of fire beneath their bum to be motivated to do more. But I pray constantly it does not give them more pressure. I don't want to pressure them to be any more than that beautiful and unique creatures they were born to be. There is no perfect, but my children, they are my perfect.