Hallelujah! I See The Light!
To All the Parents With WEE ONES.
It gets easier. I promise.
I’m not sure when your window of light will shine through - but I know that it will.
I remember looking deep into the eyes of parents that were years ahead in their parental journey asking when it gets easier and I would always get some response of “well, I don’t know if it is easier - it is just different”. In that moment, I felt deflated and slightly terrified. I wasn’t sure how I was gonna make it and what I was really asking for was hope and instead it usually came with a kicker. “Oh, those were my favorite times. They go quickly. Cherish them.”
Cherish them elicits an internal boomerang of a polite smile with fuck you eyes. Yes, of course I cherish my children. They are laced into the DNA of my everything. And yes, of course I know (I know) I will miss these times. But my everything is about ready to bottom out if someone doesn’t chill the fuck out. (me being the someone and chilling usually means sleep. I.just.need.some.ever.lovin.sleep.)
Yet, I think they mean well - the parents years ahead in the process - I really think they do. But they have just forgotten. The intensity of being EVERYTHING to these baby creatures. It has been too long since they were in this phase and just like the pain of labor only the light remains.
Our mind does some serious trickery only remembering the moments of loving rapture while forgetting how quickly that laughter can turn into the endless nights of no sleep from a sick baby or restless snuggler to a frequent feeder or nighttime pee-er
How Mommy whiningly screamed on repeat for the millionth time is nails on a chalkboard that stimulates my flight response into that of a crazed cracked out cheetah, but instead - instead - my outsides remain steady while I make them another peanut butter taco. But cherish them. I do. Which is EXACTLY why my nerves have been fried since the day I failed the third pregnancy test and the only thing keeping me taped together is coffee and chocolate and after bed booze.
But then, one day you wake up. And you realize. Ho-ly.Smokes. We slept in until 6am. ALL THE WAY THROUGH THE NIGHT. And then you do it two nights in a row. And you thank the gods for your lucky stars.
And then you realize that you can leave the house without a two hour lead time of packing and pumping and feeding and changing only to do it again right before you walk out the door. That your boobs aren’t leaking, that both you and the kids have more than a 30 second lead time to pee, and that you can go to the bathroom alone without worrying that the toddler was going to maim the baby. That while grapes and hotdogs still needed to be sliced you suddenly realize that the rest of the house isn’t a death trap for your toddling terrorist who doubles as an escape artist.
And you start to breathe deeper. And sleep more. Shower more often and maybe even feel like that person you once knew. And then all of the sudden you think - oh. That wasn’t so bad. Look at these little humans. These are all my people. My persons. And you begin to forget and start to hold onto the good. And think. Wow, those were magical years. Sometimes I wish I could go back. And if I could - I would really cherish them. Cause wow. They go really fast.
But, My Sweet Tired Saint of a Parent. Until you get to this wonderland know that your light of just a little bit easier... it is coming honey. And until it does, just keep moving and loving your way through. You've got this. And your time for sleep and a smidgen of sanity is coming.
Know of another parent that needs a light at the end of the first two years tunnel?
Please share the hope. Sometimes all we need is to know someone has been there and a little hope to hang in there.