This too shall pass

Right now my life feels so very full that it’s beginning to stretch at the seams, the individual threads that hold it together are visible and strained. Those little threads that contain the weight of my days and nights are vulnerable to the slightest abrasion that could slice through the fibers, and it all could come tumbling down.

I am trying just to maintain right now, not take on too much or go too fast. Be gentle with myself and try to do the same for others. The Jewish phrase, “This too shall pass,” rings true with me right now, regarding both the lovely and the irksome. I feel surrounded by this dichotomy right now, cherishing the quiet moments with Cameron and his baby smell, and breathing through the long days of working and mothering and “wifing” with little time for myself.

“This too shall pass” has become my mantra recently, to remind myself to enjoy the little moments in life because they will soon be gone, and to let go of many of my worries, because they are only temporal. Do not rush through these days; there will be time for other aspirations and desires. What I have now is worth embracing with every atom of my being.

The Mask of Motherhood

Yesterday I got together with two friends who have kids the same ages as Carter and Cameron. It was the first time all three of us have been together with all of our kids. The conversation started out with the standard, "How is your baby sleeping? How is the older sibling handling it?" etc. But slowly, comments about some of the common mother struggles we're dealing with began to come out. Like, how it can be exhausting to be a mother and wife in the same day. And that our kids actually annoy us sometimes. And that some part of us is actually looking forward to returning to work. But as each of these admissions was made, the confessor would follow it with some comment like, "I must be the worst mother in the world," or, "Isn't that terrible?" rather than assuming that such negative thoughts and feelings are totally normal.

In my experience it seems mothers are expected to love and smile at every aspect of motherhood, and to not like part of it is some sort of failure. We don't openly discuss the moments we don't like; it's only in hushed intimate conversations that we admit such things. Why is that? We easily express our frustrations with work, with in-laws, even with spouses to an extent, but for some reason being a parent is different.

Everyone says that being a mother is the hardest, best job there is. But it has become such a cliche phrase that it's lost its meaning. Becoming a mother is so easy--one passionate night--that the difficulty of successfully raising a child doesn't even fall on the same scale.

I continue to urge myself to be honest and open about motherhood and not put on the smiling supermom mask that disguises when I'm struggling. Expressing my true, unfiltered feelings almost always results in someone else nodding along and sighing in relief that she's not alone, either. In this way stronger bonds are made among mothers and we each feel a little less alone. A little more normal. A little more forgiving of ourselves as mothers.