Push Through the Pain

If I had to summarize what motherhood means to me, and try and pin it down to one defining word that pretty much captures the whole experience, I would have to say … pain.

Yep, PAIN it is. (What, you were expecting ‘fulfillment’ or ‘love’?) Nope. Children come into this world, bringing joy and excitement and a w-h-o-l-e lot of pain. And they keep on bringing it, in one form or another. With some woman the pain of motherhood begins with a difficult pregnancy; with others, it’s the excruciating labor of childbirth. Everyone has their own little horror stories to share - especially if there is a pregnant lady within earshot. The tales we tell can range from the blood and guts hospital variety to the twisted red tape of adoptions. Women are all about relationship, and instead of trying to one-up each other with our stories, we typically use them to commiserate with each other. We bond, we sympathize, we relate. Perhaps you can relate to my story.

With my first-born, Jaime, it’s a tale about a broken tailbone. And Jaime loves to tell it to anyone who will listen. “When I was born I broke my mom’s tailbone. She was pushing hard and I was pushing harder inside and then there was this snapping sound. Everyone was like, ‘What was that noise?’ And wham! snap! out I came. And I’ve been a pain in the tush ever since!” That’s my sweet Jaime. As for my second, my little Delia, well, that was no picnic either. Though the labor was much shorter (5 hours compared to a full 24) the pain was far more intense. For my first labor I chose to have no meds; with the next pregnancy, I put in my order for an epidural at my first pre-natal check-up. The second time around I knew what was coming - and I was more than a little apprehensive about going through labor again. But the nurses knew I could get through it, and they kept encouraging me. “Push through the pain! Just push through the pain!”

To be honest, that wasn’t what I wanted to hear in the middle of the worst pain I’ve ever had. At the time, I would have preferred a little more sympathy, an understanding look, an assurance that it was going to be all right. But those nurses knew a thing or two, I guess, because I did manage to “push through the pain” and get the job done. And thus my little peanut, my Delia, came into the world. I’m pretty sure she was worth the effort. And the same with Jaime (though my tailbone is still a little sore.)

Pain doesn’t end with the beginning of Motherhood. Oh, no. The fun is just beginning. There’s the recovery from pregnancy. The sleep-deprived nights. All of the endless, thankless, mindless tasks mothers have to do every day, multiple times a day. Not to mention all the repetitive training, nagging, and teaching that comes into play as the kids get older. It’s all rolled up into motherhood. Being a mom is a struggle.  

Of course, I’m not saying that it’s all hardship. There are wonderful moments with your kids (brief, shining moments) when you heave a contented mommy sigh and understand all the love in the universe. We need 
to focus on the good stuff, those happy little carrots that
get us through the slogging dreariness. Because it is worth it. All the pain they give us, in whatever form, in whatever shape it comes, is still worth it. Pain is wrapped up in us and transforms into something better, deeper, more profound. It changes us as women, builds character, and teaches volumes. 
So pain isn’t a bad thing in itself. It’s a springboard for better things.

So when your little ones are hanging on you, trashing the house and talking with their mouths full and pulling the dog’s tail and breaking your crockery … just sit down, take a beverage break and let it roll over you.

Because it’s all good. Bring it on.

A Day in the Life of Little

Kids can suck the life right out of you. If they also sucked the fat out, at least I would be exhausted and skinny. But no such luck. Once upon a time, I was healthy, active, and upbeat. Now, a mere 13 years after I've had my children, I'm a crumpled shell of my former self.

You always hear folks saying about children, "I wish I could bottle their energy!" Ain't that the truth. And the more hyper, the more intense, the more 'spirited' those kids are ... the more rapidly they age you. I am old before my time. Both my girls stopped napping at 12 months. Not because I wanted them to! They just didn't need the sleep. My girls are energized bunnies, running on some internal power source that defies my ability to find the 'off' switch. Every hour those kids don't sleep, is one more gray hair on my head. I have a lot of gray hair.

At times as a parent you might think, "I can't wait to get through this stage." Like those early baby years - the sleepless nights, the endless diapers. But it doesn't last forever. Some of the most beautiful sounds you can hear are the toilet flushing and the sink water running … as your child outgrows diapers and moves forward into a new time of life. Every age and stage has both its challenges and its joys.

It's funny ... we used to call our younger daughter "Little" because she was just a peanut. And now we have friends with younger kids who call her the big kid. Life marches on. Sometimes it marches right over you.

When my kids were small, I did publicity for our local M.O.P.S. group (Mother's of Preschoolers.) I found an article I wrote in one of our newsletters about "Little" that still cracks me up. So I'd like to share it. It's a reminder that they do grow up fast. So try to enjoy your kids, even if they can make you a little crazy!  

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A Day in the Life of Little

We call her "Little." Little is our two year old daughter. The nickname indicates her diminutive size but does not describe the incredibly huge amounts of trouble she gets into. 

A typical day for Little will include:

• Trying to climb into the oven (thankfully cold) while my back is turned. "While my back is turned" can vary from 10 seconds to a minute, but no longer, because as our 8 year old commented, "When she's playing and we can hear her, it's fine. When it’s quiet, you better find her fast 'cause there's sure to be trouble."

• Stacking my glass spice jars 5 high while perched precariously on a shaky little plastic 4-drawer organizer jammed between the kitchen table and the kitchen counter.

• Having a party with the sugar bowl, after climbing on the above kitchen counter. Sometimes this includes making her way across the entire length of the counter and the sink to peek into the cupboards above the (thankfully cold) stove top.

• Commandeering "read: stealing" tea from my teacup. I haven't had a cup of tea to myself in months. Little has several tiny plastic play teacups in her arsenal. She will get one and dunk her cup into my ceramic tea cup. She's a precise child, always turns her cup so the rose pattern faces her and she can grasp the tiny handle on the right. Drinks her thimbleful of tea. Then she dips, and repeats. Dips. Repeats. I don’t believe the expression "tea for two" meant quite this. When Little has drunk her fill all that's left is backwash and a memory.

• Then there are the frequent escapes from the house. We have had to install deadbolts on certain doors to prevent our little Houdini from escaping unexpectedly. If the front door isn't latched tight with the extra lock fastened, she will pop out of the front door like a jack in the box. Whoever is closest will charge out after her and retrieve the wayward child. My favorite of her escape attempts was during a particularly severe nighttime rainstorm. There was of course no time to put on a coat (much less shoes) for the chase. Squishy, squinchy, squelchy socks.

• Little enjoys water play when she can get it (rainstorm or tub, it doesn't matter.) In between regular baths she likes to scale up the bathroom vanity, toes clinging to the drawer ledge to play with the water in the sink. Splashing happily away on the walls and the floor as well. Good way to get me to mop, I guess.

• Pantry raids are a favorite activity, too. If we are watching TV, Little will bring us all sodas. She will conveniently have her tiny teacup at the ready, waiting for us for serve her the coveted beverage. If we do not open the soda, she will raid the pantry again and bring more sodas. We call this the "take the hint" technique. This also applies to any snack food she can reach. Raid. Repeat. 

Then there's the whole potty training fiasco. I repressed the whole experience from my first daughter. Now I get to 'potty' all over again with the new kid on the block. I know that Little is ready for this stage: she's quite aware when her diaper is wet (or worse). Sometimes if we're lucky she will gleefully take it off and carry it to us to show us the contents. She’s happy as a clam to wave bye-bye to the poopy pebbles as they go down the toilet. I can't say the potty chair is completely ignored, though; she uses it as a step stool to reach the light switch in the bathroom. On, off, on, off. Repeat endlessly. But to actually use the potty? Not going to happen any time soon. Regardless of the fact that I am ready for her to be ready. Ah, well.

This is a typical day in the life of Little. I thought my older daughter was difficult at that age; I now know she was just a warm up to prepare me for the real deal. I wonder sometimes which of my kids is going to get me first, one from an ulcer, or the other from a heart attack. But for all the craziness in my life, I really am thankful for both of my girls. I'm also really thankful that they’re not twins.

Nemesis

There are days I wonder why I ever wanted to have kids. Now that one of our girls is a teenager, those days are more frequent. Yes, we have a teenage daughter. Did I hear a sigh of sympathy? Thanks. I needed that.

I don’t know what’s worse… having an only child that whines and begs for a sibling, or having a child who has received the long-awaited sibling and then regrets their request. Because once the new baby has grown old enough to get into her stuff … copy her… and show signs of being smarter than her… all bets of sisterly love are off.

People ask us all the time why we waited six years to have another child. Simple answer: just meet the first kid. Intense. Dramatic. Spirited. And that's on a good day. So we waited, and prayed, and when we thought we could handle another child (hoping that the new one would be... well, less like the first) decided to give the first one her wish of a sibling. She got her wish, and so did we. Different kids, as unique as the fingerprints on their sticky little hands. Now, different works well for some things, like tastes in style and food. It's nice to have a little variety. But when it comes to personality differences in siblings ... not so much. My two girls often clash like rams, locked head to head in mortal combat.

I spend a lot of time prying the two stubborn sisters apart, hearing both sides of the story, counseling and consoling, yet making little headway. Time lost defusing the endless enmity of everyday life.

Individually, both are bright, beautiful and loving. Each girl has her own wonderfully unique talents, temperament and eccentricities. And of course we adore both our girls. But to each other, they are as opposite as they could be. Diametrically opposed. Sister against sister. If they ever formed a singing group, they would be Nemesis.

Sibling rivalry is nothing new under the sun. I know this. But dealing with it is one of the most difficult things you ever have to do as a parent. It’s a never ending struggle, and if you favor one child over the other, you won’t hear the end of it. If you show equality to both (or all, depending on your household) you also can’t win … because children are self-centered creatures. They are a world unto themselves, revolving around their own bright little stars.

So when my girls go at it and the usual threats don’t work, I head for my parenting manuals. In these kinds of situations, the bigger books are better, because they make more of an impact when you chuck them at the kids. Paperbacks are okay, but if you really want to get your kids to stop arguing, hard-cover books are best for the kind of impression you need to break up a fight. Then I enjoy the 180 in attitude as their anger is diverted off of each other. Mission accomplished on two fronts: the fighting is over, and the two are back on one side - them against me. Let them sulk, I care not. I just want peace and quiet.

There are times when the two get along … brief, shining moments when they play and sing and work together famously. When they put their lovely little heads together in peace and not in battle. Times like those… well, of course I like to take all the credit for that as a parent (since it’s not in their nature to get along!) and I wish it could be like that always. Because as they grow older, they will need each other, need those qualities that the other has, that they aren’t as strong in. Need the bond of sisterhood, the connection of family. Life is unpredictable. If you spend your time on earth in angst and anger, there is much to regret later.

So I’ll keep on encouraging my girls to get along. I know they will catch on sooner or later. And when it does happen - and it will - it will be a sweet thing to see.