Today I was at the park and I overheard a mom say to her child after she asked for her to come push her on the swing, "Agh, no! Just play by yourself and leave mom alone!" It really hit me hard hearing this. It was kinda like a punch in my gut in a way, and I will tell you why...
First of all, it made me sad for this little girl, especially seeing her face when her mom said that. But in all honesty, it made me more sad for the mom. The mother was young, and I noticed that this was her first and only child so far, even though I did see that she was pregnant. Don't get me wrong, I also completely get it and can sympathize with this mom. I get that sometimes you just want to be left alone, and after you hear, "mom...mom...mom...mom..." all day long...it does get frustrating and even annoying. I know it does. I often go to my room after dinner and "hide" just to de-compress and not be spoken to or touched, and that is the truth, ask Todd.
I am also pretty sure I have said those exact words before to my then two young boys several years ago. I remember they would beg me to push them on the swings after we had come to the park, even though I had wished they would just play while I either chatted with friends, or cleared my head. The things is that I later ate those words, and regretted saying them. When we were struggling with infertility my whole perspective changed. I realized one day that I might not ever hold another baby of mine, or feed a baby in the middle of the night, or get to change it's poopy diapers, or clean up messes from a toddler or push them child on a swing. I remember that day very clearly. I all of a sudden regretted a lot of times I said no to wanting toddlers, or was frustrated with sticky messes and mundane daily activities. I looked back on a blur of days that I know I didn't appreciate or treasure the way that I should have. I realized I might not ever get the chance to change and enjoy raising another baby again.
Struggling with infertility, and miscarriages, and the whole lot of all that ridiculous nonsense, really changed me as a mother. It made me realize how much I fiercely love Thatcher and Taggart beyond words, and absolutely changed the way I mothered them. It made me say yes a whole lot more, and made me try to not freak out so much about the messes they made. It made me hug them a little tighter, and relax a bit more. It made me realize that they were growing up every day and I would never get these days back. That they were mine forever but they were not going to be living in my home forever and so I should enjoy them now. This is not to say changed into the perfect mom. No way Jose. I am so totally far from a perfect mom. I still get annoyed, and tired and completely 100% done. But deep inside it's different.
And when we were blessed with a new babe I honestly found absolute joy in doing those mundane tasks like changing poopy diapers, and playing for hours on the floor with baby toys, and reading books over and over and over for the millionth time. And not once in the 14 months of sleepless nights did I ever go into his room grumpy or bothered or even feeling at all disturbed. Every time I went in I grabbed him and held him so close and gave thanks to God that He somehow saw fit to give me the desire of my mother heart. I was changed, and I am so grateful for that paradigm shift in my life. God sure does work in mysterious ways.
So I somehow wanted to tell all of this to that young mom at the park, and tell her to JUST GO PUSH HER ON THE SWING LADY! But I didn't do that obviously, and I do know that we all learn different lessons at different times in our lives and at even at different paces. But you know what? I am sure grateful though for my three boys. Two who came to us easy peasy rice and cheesy, as Tagg likes to say, and one who I had to pay the piper for. All three have brought me more joy than I ever knew was even possible. And now when one of them asks me to push them on the swings, I will and I do it happily, and it is always a reminder to me that the days are slow, but the years go by so fast.
This very thought may or may not have been going through my mind when I crawled into bed with Thatcher the other night and held him and ugly cried. The best part about this story is that it didn't even phase Thatcher. He didn't say a word to me about it. He was probably just like, "yep, my mom is a wacko"...but how could I explain to him that I was picturing him all grown up with stubble on his face and a deep voice about to leave on a mission just 3 minutes before I got in his bed and tried to hold him like a newborn baby? Oh boy...I was a mess. Sweet Thatch, he's such a good understanding boy.
Also, along these same lines of me being a wacko...I love to sit in front of Tate and watch him eat breakfast...is that kinda creeper? I just can't help myself!! And I hope years from now I will always remember Tate and my breakfasts together...
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