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.
