I have always had plans on top of plans, and contingencies for those plans. It's my nature. It's what keeps anxiety at bay for me. On top of always juggling plans and schedules, I've usually been great at multi-tasking them with reality. In that regard, motherhood is a great fit. The difference between my pre-kid days of organizing life and my days as a mom, is my level of focus.
Before children, I could give each of my tasks my full attention. Since becoming a mom, I feel constantly distracted. I am in a perpetual fog of motherhood. Of course I had the hormone-induced distractibility of pregnancy and post-partum with each of my girls, but this fog is lasting. I can no longer sit through a workday without my to-do's pushing their way into my focus. I can't make it through an outing apart from the kids without wondering: How are the girls are doing? Are they missing me too much? Or at all? Have they eaten? Did they poop? Are they behaving? Did Addy nap? Has D been polite? My distractions are endless and always coursing through my mind. They are also inescapable.
While the thoughts sustaining my fog are ever-changing, it's existence is not. Five years from now, my focus on potty-training and sight words, will be replaced with Adelyn learning to read and Danica enduring the woes of fifth grade. Ten years from now, Addy will begin learning algebra, as D learns how to drive. And twenty years years from now, I will be learning how to mother women, rather than little girls.
As the days and years of motherhood cycle by, I am realizing that this fog, in some capacity, is mine forever. For me, it is a by-product of motherhood. My heart, and focus, will never be untouched by my little ladies.
Back when I was a perfect parent, better known as the time before I ever became pregnant, I just knew that I would have the intuition necessary to understand my children. I was certain that I would have the magical ability to understand, interpret, and appeal to the children of my once upon a future. Fast forward into reality, and it is just not so.
My children both exude so much personality and truly make each day an adventure. Of course, they help me once again see the world through the eyes of a child. But our adventure goes beyond that. Through Danica, I have been gifted the opportunity to see the world through the eyes of a child whose perspectives vastly differ from mine. She and I are on different wavelengths. Where she is bold and brave, I am cautious and hesitant. Where she is sensitive and worrisome, I am strong and confident. What feels impossible for her, seems effortless to me. Within these fragile and stark differences, lie my greatest parenting hardships and also my most valuable parenting lessons.
I knew that to be the mother I always wanted to be, that I would need to digest life into kid-appropriate lessons. I naively did not realize, though, that I would need to process those lessons in ways that feel very foreign to me. I function on reserves. I achieve my happiness through seemingly small occurrences throughout my days. Things like the perfect blend of creamer in my coffee, unusually tender hugs from my girls before I head out for the day, or a random morning "I love you" text from Mike. These "little things" satiate my need for positivity each day. They help me keep my spirits up and withstand the tough or monotonous parts of life. Danica sees things differently, though. She might say that even with the creamer, the coffee is still too hot to drink. She might see that Adelyn hugged me first, so hers doesn't count. She might notice that the text from Mike interrupted our time to cuddle.
As I continue to learn the best ways to parent her, I am realizing more and more how much I have to step out of my comfort zone to do so. I have to adapt my expectations and redirect dismay. Some days, it is just plain hard. But for my sweet, spirited Danica, I will never stop trying. Through this journey in parenting, I have realized it may just be our differing wavelengths that have always caused her to need me so intensely. I am her balance, and just maybe she is mine.
With two kids under six, a husband, two dogs, a nearly full-time job, and Mike and I both returning to school, my life is constantly in schedule-juggling mode. We are always in a mostly-manageable state of disarray. That being said, though, we are also constantly making memories. Whether it's a family vacation, Danica learning to read, or Adelyn mastering the phrase "Mama needs her coffee?", we are always in memory-making mode. Some of these are memories well-documented with pictures or video, but most are tucked away in my bank of reminiscence. For now, I draw on those when life feels overwhelming. In those moments where I feel lost in a sea of tantrums and messes, I think about how proud D was when she learned to say "computer" instead of "compuker". I remember how delightful belly giggles sound when the rest of the world feels ugly. I look at the photo sitting at my desk and remember how amazing it felt to share the awe of the ocean with my girls for the first time. I remember these moments, but then look forward to the memories to come. I think about our next trip to Disney. I think about taking the girls to the local playgrounds, now that Addy is mobile enough to enjoy them. I'm excited to truly share my life with the beautiful people Mike and I have created.
But then, in my spirit of over-analyzing everything, I wonder when memory-making stops.
When does life stop being so dynamic?
When will I stop updating the pictures in my frames?
When are my memories more monumental than my future?
I don't want to be there. I don't want to stop being optimistic, forward-thinking, and hopeful. I want my tomorrows to be as exciting as my yesterdays. I have begun trying on a very foreign-to-me concept...embracing change, rather than anxiously anticipating it. Hopefully, this will help me continue to make memories and not stay stuck in a life of reminiscence...
It's happened. I didn't think it would affect me like this, but it has. Since giving birth to Danica five-and-a-half years ago, I have referred to myself as a mom. In reality, though, I have always been mama or mommy. Friday night, when Danica said good night to me, she called me mom instead. Since then, I have consistently been mom to her. Over the past few weeks, she also begun helping with chores on her own accord, cooperating with her sister like never before, and redirecting her overwhelming energies into a refreshing calmness.
I know she's transitioning to greater independence right now. I also know that transitions usually have a relatable difficulty for Danica, so I'm choosing not to churn the waters and make into a big deal with her. But mom sounds so foreign. My heart aches a tiny bit every time I hear my new name. It's strange how two fewer letters can mean so much. For now, I will tuck away my sadness, and try facing this transition with the same positivity that Danica is giving it. Let's see what this next chapter has to bring...
