Both kids were starving. Both kids were crying hysterically because of it. Okay, Clare's immediate cause of tears had something to do with the shoes she was trying to put on, but we all know that really, it was lunch time, and she was hungry.
There I was bouncing Peter in my left arm, trying to talk Clare down, and cutting her sandwich with my right. Meanwhile, I'm trying to use the powers of my mind to get my own lunch together so that I can sit down, nurse Peter, and eat my sandwich at the same time (an important skill for all moms of newbies), all while monitoring Clare eating her lunch.
I am Mom. Hear me
As I felt my blood pressure rising, I felt something else welling up, too. It wasn't joy. It certainly wasn't peace. But it was a type of contentment. A type of surety. A knowledge that I was right where I was supposed to be. I felt blessed to be tasked with taking care of these two hooligans, even at a moment when it seemed like they just might get the better of me.
I am Mom. I got this.
I wish I could bottle that feeling up. An hour later (yesterday), as I was first trying to write this post, Peter got fussy. I was typing one handed while I nursed, but it didn't seem to be helping. Then, whether because of the noise or her own rejection of sleep, Clare woke from her nap after 45 minutes in the crib. I closed the laptop.
They had gotten the better of me.
I was sad and mad and frustrated. I was annoyed that my own little sliver of "me" time had been snatched away. I could have used a large dose of that positivity. Instead, I resorted to this:
|Afternoon dose of caffeine|
I don't have a moral or a lesson or a conclusion. I'm still learning and fumbling along. I'm still figuring out how to mother these two wonderful, frustrating, loud, needy, amazing, snuggly, wiggly, hungry, beautiful blessings. I'm taking it day by day, and sometimes hour by hour. All I know for sure is that I'm where I'm supposed to be. For now, that's enough.