Monday, February 9, 2015

Pride Goeth Before Motherhood

Let me tell you, you cannot be a mother if you have any pride. At all. You have to check it at the door the moment the pink line shows up. For lots of reasons.

First of all, there's the whole childbirth thing. If you are a modest person, you will die. Or at least wish you could a billion times throughout this 9 month process, with 8.5 billion of those wishes occurring during the actual 24 - 72 hours you are laboring (hopefully it will be more on the 24 hours end, but don't count on it). 


Then the baby is there, and you are exhausted. In addition to the bleeding monster eyes I described here, I was actually so tired after all three births I got black eyes. Not like some dark circles because you stayed out too late. Like, someone-punched-me-square-in-the-face-black-eyes. Only no one actually punched me. You just can't go all those days in a row without sleep and keep your sparkling baby blues. I remember sitting in the nursery thinking, "I have never been this tired. No one in the history of the world has ever been this tired. And no one ever will be again. And I look ridiculous." And then I sobbed.


Then this sweet baby does things like cough while you are changing her diaper causing poop to spray out on you. (OK, I'm sure that's TMI but, as they say, poop happens.) Or spits up into your hair. Or onto your face (I do not advise playing "airplane" until your kid has been on solid foods for a loooong time.) And the worst part about these incidents is that you actually debate whether or not you need to change clothes. What's the point? It's going to happen again in an hour or two. And no one is around to care. 


On days when you won't see anyone except for these babies who drool all over you and the man who helped you make these monkeys, you have to really consider whether or not to use their naptime minutes to shower and put on some deodorant, which is the extent of the beautification routine even on days you are feeling fancy. The kids definitely don't care as long as you keep the graham crackers and apple juice flowing, and by the time you get the kids in bed, the Father for sure won't care, and plus that's how you got in this situation in the first place. A book we studied in our small group titled When Sinners Say I Do had a line in it saying something to the effect of "Nothing makes you feel less sexy than small children." Testify. Witness. And Amen.


And one day, when these people start to be able to form sentences, they say things like, "Why are you so dressed up?" when all I did was put on jeans instead of yoga pants. Or "Your tummy is squishy" which initially provoked me to anger and the desire to rage about how THEY are the reason my tummy is squishy, but eventually I came around to this response I posted as my status on Facebook back before I started this blog:

Mom, your tummy is squishy!

Yup. I could probably go off carbs and get a sweet flat tummy, but then someday you'd think you need to as well, and if you ever place your worth on how well toned your body is, I will be so sad. Also, I like chocolate, so there's that.

I could work out vigorously every day, but honestly when I have free time between my part time job and my full time mommying I want to read a book. (Or watch KUWTK but that is a secret)

My tummy also has lots of stretch marks, which I could make go away with various expensive creams, but it just doesn't seem important when people are being slaughtered and my money might get them some clean water or bread or something I have free access to.

I'm not stupid, and I want to be really healthy and be here for a long time for you and your sisters, but even if I'm not, we have FOREVER together in HEAVEN! What more can I ask for?

So my tummy will likely always remain squishy, but your Daddy thinks I'm smoking hot, and I am a daughter of the KING, so it's ok. 

And someday when your daughter points out your squishy tummy, I hope you think it's ok, too.

But then a few more things like that came out so I thought, "Well, maybe I should go off carbs!" But then I made cornbread and there was honey and butter, so I went back to, "Nah."

Rock hard abs...gone. (But I never really had those, so no big loss. And let me tell you, most people don't. Put down People and forget it. Seriously. Don't let yourself get on the news for having to be hauled out of your house with a crane, but eat you some cornbread every now and again! And then go for a walk and forget it!) 

I can totally see the football 

playerness of this dress. 

But what's wrong with the colors?

Then there are the moments like this past Sunday when I pulled out a dress I don't wear very often because I don't really like it, but I also despise shopping and spending money when I have clothes hanging in the closet. After I took it off, one girl said, "Mommy, I'm glad you put on normal clothes (which happened to be leggings and a Fairview Basketball sweatshirt - high class stuff) because that dress made you look like you had on football player gear. And the colors!" Like I said, I don't like this dress either and have some of the same feelings, but it stung a little to have it said out loud. 

Sense of style...gone.

Or this morning, when I had on my glasses which I have been having to wear pretty much all the time because my eyesight has tanked (thanks, Middle Age) and one girl said, "Why do you wear your glasses all the time now?" I told her that it was because being pregnant ruined my eyesight. I'm going to blame everything on pregnancy forever and make them rue the day they decided to be born.


All the things that used to be things I took pride in, things in which I found my identity...gone.

But I also know I would give up my pride over and over and over again to be a mom. It's why the human population hasn't become extinct. Because the good outweighs the bad. Sometimes they say things like, "Mommy, I love you so much I just wish I could hold your hand all day everyday." Or leave notes for me to find in my calendar. Or tell me with awe in their eyes, "Mama, you look like a princess!"  

Those moments make the others worth it. I will buck up and soldier on. I will pull myself up with my out-of-style boot straps. Because I AM MOM. That is my new identity. And I love it.

It's ok with me that they think I look like a linebacker. Or that my glasses make me look old. And that they ruined my body. And my eyes. And killed the romance and stained all my clothes and suck me dry of energy and rational thoughts and are needy and are the reason we can't have nice things and never pick up their stuff and complain about supper. 

Because one day, before I can even believe it or am remotely ready for it, they will be...gone. 


1 comment:

Share your own craziness here. We are all in this together. Let's laugh about it.