I got home a little after noon and started making myself some lunch. I pulled out a glass plate and put my leftovers in the oven. I decided to fry an egg to put on top of my stuffed acorn squash because everything is better with a fried egg on top. As I was cooking, my cute blue plate caught my attention. I realized in that moment that I was having a yummy warm lunch on a fancy plate. The house was quiet and I was able to eat my food in peace. I didn't have to share with the little birdies who used to be at my feet begging for my undivided attention. I didn't have to stuff my face quickly before the baby's next feeding or because I was on the go. I was eating off a real plate instead of paper and I hadn't reheated my food a thousand times. What a grand moment; one to record for sure.
Every month I meet with a friend for lunch. I love this girl and like to check in with her to see how life is going. She's got three young boys at home and a traveling husband. Every time we get together I have flashbacks. It wasn't but a year or so ago I was in her very stage of life. You know, that survival-of-the-fittest stage where you wonder who will make it to the end of the day: mommy or the toddler. I look at her and know in the blink of an eye she, too, will be eating a warm lunch on a fancy plate.
Let's go back in time, shall we. Scott and I never really talked about how many kids we would have. I think we both assumed two would be great. We never thought we'd hit any challenges with conceiving and always thought we knew what to expect. We were young and naïve like most couples who haven't had kids yet. After hitting many required milestones (like owning a house), Scott and I had Jackson. The kid was a textbook pregnancy and delivery. He was a good infant but didn't like to sleep a ton. His challenging years came later between the ages of 2-4 years; right when we started trying for another baby. I had the perfect scenario in my head. The kids would be as close to two years apart as possible and then we'll call it a day. If we could have one of each, would be icing on the cake. Well, neither happened. We started trying when Jack was 18-months old and had two miscarriages causing us we to seek genetic counseling. Thankfully, we didn't have any issues to contend with, so off we went trying to make Jackson a big brother. We conceived Grady soon after but had some complications during his pregnancy that challenged us individually and in our marriage. Grady was born four weeks premature but thankfully was a healthy thriving infant. A year and a half of trying, failed pregnancies, healing, and then the pregnancy and birth of Grady was a lot to handle. Then, when Grady was just three months old, the surprise of our life entered the picture: I was pregnant with Wyatt. I remember crying totally overwhelmed feeling all the feelings. Scott, on the other hand, was ready to tackle this making plans and room arrangements almost immediately.
I look back on that time and it feels like yesterday. What a whirlwind and emotional roller coaster. Yet, I would not change a single word of our story. Not one. Wyatt was born a year and a week after Grady. I remember hoping I would make it to Grady's first birthday before having Wyatt. In my mind, I needed them to be at least a year apart. Maybe that was the only way I'd remain sane. So, there I sat in our big brown chair holding an infant with a one-year old at my feet and a three year old playing in the distance. Craziness. I recall having to take Jack to preschool. I would put Grady in the Ergo on my back (Bless the Ergo. Best invention ever!) holding Wyatt in the infant carrier on one arm and holding Jack's hand. If I let Grady down, he would eat all the snack off the preschoolers' tables. I learned and adapted finding ways to survive those first few months and years. People often assumed the most difficult time with the boys was when they were three and under. I think the most challenging time came when Wyatt was two and Grady three. During that time, the gig was up that they couldn't get out of their stroller (I often kept them strapped in at Jack's practices and things like that throwing food in their direction to keep them happy). And once they were free, I was running because neither of them ran in the same direction.
Now, here I sit with my fancy plate and warm food. I think back when the boys were itty-bitty and I was their source for every-single-need-ever. I was in complete survival mode. Let's make sure everyone lives to see the end of the day. Caring for myself went on the back-burner and I never thought I would get a warm meal again, let alone shower or go to the bathroom in peace. I loved being their everything. Loved it! But it was also so very exhausting. From having babies, to nursing, to rearing and guiding, parenting is hands-down the most difficult thing I have ever done in my life. I have been a waitress and dealt with rude and unruly customers . I have taught students who were dirty and hungry. I have had to get students to pass standardized tests yet they came to school in handcuffs or parents were incarcerated. But, I must say, parenting my own kids is by far the most difficult task that I have ever undertaken.
I write this to tell all the mamas (and daddies) out there that you, too, will survive. You will miss the days when your baby needs to find comfort curled up on your chest, but you will relish in the new relationship you have with them. I have told Scott many times that I will mourn the day my boys don't need their mama anymore. He reminds me that they will always need me, it just may look different. I loved being pregnant. I adored late night feedings. I even loved the days that I cried to Scott feeling completely defeated in this mommy career. While I do miss those days of survival, I appreciate that God doesn't keep us there. These quiet days at home while the boys are in school are precious to me. I get to recharge, regroup, and do things that make me a better mom, wife, and friend. And then, when my boys come home and all that quiet is lost, I remember that I am still needed.
Carry on, young mama. The days are surely long but the years promise to be short. Soon you will eat your lunch on a fancy plate and it will still be warm. :)
"Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, So are the children of one’s youth. How blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them..." Psalm 127:4-5a
Love & Blessings,
Meg
Every month I meet with a friend for lunch. I love this girl and like to check in with her to see how life is going. She's got three young boys at home and a traveling husband. Every time we get together I have flashbacks. It wasn't but a year or so ago I was in her very stage of life. You know, that survival-of-the-fittest stage where you wonder who will make it to the end of the day: mommy or the toddler. I look at her and know in the blink of an eye she, too, will be eating a warm lunch on a fancy plate.
Let's go back in time, shall we. Scott and I never really talked about how many kids we would have. I think we both assumed two would be great. We never thought we'd hit any challenges with conceiving and always thought we knew what to expect. We were young and naïve like most couples who haven't had kids yet. After hitting many required milestones (like owning a house), Scott and I had Jackson. The kid was a textbook pregnancy and delivery. He was a good infant but didn't like to sleep a ton. His challenging years came later between the ages of 2-4 years; right when we started trying for another baby. I had the perfect scenario in my head. The kids would be as close to two years apart as possible and then we'll call it a day. If we could have one of each, would be icing on the cake. Well, neither happened. We started trying when Jack was 18-months old and had two miscarriages causing us we to seek genetic counseling. Thankfully, we didn't have any issues to contend with, so off we went trying to make Jackson a big brother. We conceived Grady soon after but had some complications during his pregnancy that challenged us individually and in our marriage. Grady was born four weeks premature but thankfully was a healthy thriving infant. A year and a half of trying, failed pregnancies, healing, and then the pregnancy and birth of Grady was a lot to handle. Then, when Grady was just three months old, the surprise of our life entered the picture: I was pregnant with Wyatt. I remember crying totally overwhelmed feeling all the feelings. Scott, on the other hand, was ready to tackle this making plans and room arrangements almost immediately.
I look back on that time and it feels like yesterday. What a whirlwind and emotional roller coaster. Yet, I would not change a single word of our story. Not one. Wyatt was born a year and a week after Grady. I remember hoping I would make it to Grady's first birthday before having Wyatt. In my mind, I needed them to be at least a year apart. Maybe that was the only way I'd remain sane. So, there I sat in our big brown chair holding an infant with a one-year old at my feet and a three year old playing in the distance. Craziness. I recall having to take Jack to preschool. I would put Grady in the Ergo on my back (Bless the Ergo. Best invention ever!) holding Wyatt in the infant carrier on one arm and holding Jack's hand. If I let Grady down, he would eat all the snack off the preschoolers' tables. I learned and adapted finding ways to survive those first few months and years. People often assumed the most difficult time with the boys was when they were three and under. I think the most challenging time came when Wyatt was two and Grady three. During that time, the gig was up that they couldn't get out of their stroller (I often kept them strapped in at Jack's practices and things like that throwing food in their direction to keep them happy). And once they were free, I was running because neither of them ran in the same direction.
Now, here I sit with my fancy plate and warm food. I think back when the boys were itty-bitty and I was their source for every-single-need-ever. I was in complete survival mode. Let's make sure everyone lives to see the end of the day. Caring for myself went on the back-burner and I never thought I would get a warm meal again, let alone shower or go to the bathroom in peace. I loved being their everything. Loved it! But it was also so very exhausting. From having babies, to nursing, to rearing and guiding, parenting is hands-down the most difficult thing I have ever done in my life. I have been a waitress and dealt with rude and unruly customers . I have taught students who were dirty and hungry. I have had to get students to pass standardized tests yet they came to school in handcuffs or parents were incarcerated. But, I must say, parenting my own kids is by far the most difficult task that I have ever undertaken.
I write this to tell all the mamas (and daddies) out there that you, too, will survive. You will miss the days when your baby needs to find comfort curled up on your chest, but you will relish in the new relationship you have with them. I have told Scott many times that I will mourn the day my boys don't need their mama anymore. He reminds me that they will always need me, it just may look different. I loved being pregnant. I adored late night feedings. I even loved the days that I cried to Scott feeling completely defeated in this mommy career. While I do miss those days of survival, I appreciate that God doesn't keep us there. These quiet days at home while the boys are in school are precious to me. I get to recharge, regroup, and do things that make me a better mom, wife, and friend. And then, when my boys come home and all that quiet is lost, I remember that I am still needed.
Carry on, young mama. The days are surely long but the years promise to be short. Soon you will eat your lunch on a fancy plate and it will still be warm. :)
"Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, So are the children of one’s youth. How blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them..." Psalm 127:4-5a
Love & Blessings,
Meg
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