Y’all know I’ve been struggling with being enough for all my children. Your words of encouragement have done so much for me. I can’t thank you enough.
The fifth child has made me reorder my life. Reconsider my words. Rethink my beliefs.
It’s not the child. Amazingly, as one would think. This baby is so laid back. So happy. So easy. Car trips, car seats, wrapped and worn by me, the swing, church, the floor, siblings, Daddy – it’s all good. Just as the ease of having four children had nothing to do with that child. The colic, the hating Daddy, the having only me for comfort, the into-everything, the screamer. And yet, having BigMan was just as easy to fold into the rest of the crew as having my number 3 child was – join the party, little one!
But number five has made me re-everything just like having number 1 (What? It’s not about me anymore? I have to die to self to be happy?) and then number 2 (Oh my goodness. There are 2 of them? How do I meet every.single.need right now? How can I be enough for TWO children simultaneously?)
So if it’s not the child, and it’s not the actual “how-tos” of having five children (Can you say Adventure Day? Alone? No problem!) Then what could it possibly be?
I touched on it before. It’s faith. It’s a battle of my mind. It’s me.
I no longer have enough room for each child to sit with me all at once. I no longer have enough time to meet every whim and desire while I’m attempting to cook and quiet a baby. Stopping and being in the moment, being interruptable is no longer practical. The meals must be cooked (even when they’re frozen), the dishes must be done (even when they’re disposable), the clothes must be washed (even when I’m not hanging them on the line) and constant interruptions mean that those things don’t get finished. So there are denials aplenty. And guilt as a side dish.
The “you’re not enoughs” are ever-present and nagging.
I’ve been praying for friends that have many small children that understand. It would be nice if they were in real life, but I’ll take them where I can get them. And then I made a friend at the homeschool test the other day who was wrangling her 3 other children for 3 hours while her oldest was taking the test for the first time as well. And she had friends, who just so happened to have several small children. We made a playdate, I got over my “but we live so far away and I’m so busy” excuses and met up with them. It was good (in a selfish kind of way) to see other mamas figure out how to kiss away tears, run after toddlers, reprimand olders, and nurse a baby all at once.
But the “Aha” moment came from a mom I would not have expected it from. She had 2 much older (like teenage and beyond) and then this one child that was MyOldest’s age. We were all chatting and another mom of 3 asked me if having number 5 was much different than the others. I took a chance and stepped out there. I laughed and said, “Yes, actually, VERY much so!” And I told why. The sweet mom of one younger smiled and said, “Yes, I understand. I know it’s not the same, but it really is. I homeschool my younger one, and play with her, but then I go do dishes, laundry, and clean. While she plays alone. And I feel guilty. But it’s not like I should play with her 8 hours a day because that wouldn’t be healthy either. I hear ‘You’re not enough’ all day.”
Really?!
It’s not unique to a mom of many? It’s not unique to me? It’s not just me being a failure?
And then she explained that she really did think it was attack. The “You’re not enough as a wife, as a mom, as a friend” attack. Because it’s our worry. It’s our heart. It’s our battleground. It’s our open wound.
It is that, but I’m afraid there’s more to it for me. More than I’d really like to face. More that I’ve hidden and pretended didn’t exist.
I think I’ll shine a light in the corners of my soul for all the world to see after I spend some more stretched-too thin time with my children. I think you’ll be surprised at my innermost thoughts (and just how ugly they can be) and how I stepped out into the light to fight the fight another day.
