I was never nervous to become a parent. I had everything figured out (in my head). When we found out we were pregnant with Jack we started to put our picture-perfect plans into action. We read all the books from all the experts. We talked for hours about how we were going to handle situations. The kids would never sleep in our beds. They would be potty trained by two years old. They were going to eat what we cooked, no special meals. Everything started to fall into place when Jack arrived and we rode out of the hospital on our sweet cloud of ignorant bliss. It didn’t help that Jack slept through the night at six weeks old. That just fueled the idiot fire. He met all his milestones right at the edge of the appropriate range, late but still “normal”. He nursed like a champion and once he transitioned to solids he ate everything, no pickiness at all. Obviously, it was all because we were fantastic at being his parents. We were nailing it! Time to bring on baby number 2! We would get Jack potty trained before Eli came and be right on our perfect parenting track. (Spoiler: Jack was 4 1/2 before he potty trained)
For some unknown reason, even though I had heard “every kid is different” a million times, it did not sink into my brain. We successfully made it through one whole newborn stage. We knew what we were doing. Once Eli entered the world we quickly realized we did not know what we were doing. Eli was nothing like Jack. Eli hated sleeping. He hated eating. He hated being held, being put down, tummy time, being swaddled, or really anything that had to do with being a baby. I “didn’t need the lactation consultant’s help”. (sorry nips. That was a rough time for you) He was miserable for the first nine months of his life (and so were my poor wrecked nipples).
Then we found out our third little love was on her way. We had survived a great sleeper and a terrible sleeper so we knew we would survive again. The joke was on us. Having a terrible sleeper plus a 3-year-old and a 1-year-old was a whole new ballgame. Adelaide was awake and nursing ALL NIGHT LONG. My boys did not give a shit that I was awake all night and they were ready to party at 6:00am, every single day. I was living in a caffeine-fueled, delirious blur for months. All three were still in diapers, at least one kid was in my bed every night, and meals were dry cereal, ketchup, and milk. Everything in the house was sticky. I called my husband in tears because I smelled baby spit up everywhere I went (surprise, it was my bra). This was not the plan. This was not the picture I had in my head. This was chaos.
When you have three kids, three and under, every day is a triage situation. You have to pick what’s most important and the rest will get done when it gets done. Luckily, that allowed us to really figure out what the important stuff was. It didn’t matter if Adelaide wanted to wear three tutus and Jack wanted to dress like Santa. It didn’t matter if Eli was living on ketchup and milk. It didn’t matter if there was mud on the rug and dishes in the sink. Are they happy? Are they fed and clothed (however ridiculously)? Are they adventurous and kind? Are they curious? Do they laugh and dance and play? They were all those things and so much more. They were thriving despite my desperate attempts to run our lives according to the picture in my head. So, we needed a new plan. Something had to change and since I was the adult, it made sense for it to be me. Then I started to let it go, bit by bit. Once I started to embrace the chaos, I was able to see my beautiful, loud, crazy, hilarious, messy life and it was perfection. A total shit show but my shit show.
Letting go of MY plans and MY picture is still a daily struggle. I have multiple planners and calendars and lists everywhere (it makes me feel a little in control). We eat dinner at the same time every night and have a bedtime, but the rest of the day is a little less organized. I still cringe when they immediately jump in a mud puddle after a bath, but only for a second. I remind myself that it’s just mud, it will wash off, and they may not always want to jump in muddy puddles. I have to remove myself from the equation. As a 37-year-old tired mamma, the last thing I want to do is rewash 3 muddy kids. But, it’s not about me. It’s about letting them explore a world they have never before explored. You can see it their eyes and their smiles every time they catch a firefly or see a mountain for the first time. The world is magic to them and I’ll be damned if my need for control is going to stifle them. Being a mother has taught me to get comfortable in my discomfort. Hold the bug, jump in the puddle, eat the fried banana and onion breakfast your kid made special for you. Go ahead and embrace the chaos, the discomfort, and the mess. I promise it is so worth it.
Incessant Buffoonery 