Her crying coming from my bedroom startled me awake. I had fallen asleep with the three-year-old snuggled up to me in the living room. I made my way groggily, helping that child to her bed, engorged and more-than-ready to feed the baby. It was 2:06 am.
When I arrived, there was my little 3-month-old, crying because she had rolled over in her bed from her back to her stomach and was stuck... again. This is her new trick and she does it most times she's set down on a blanket on her back for a moment, or put into her bassinet for a nap. She does it so much now, it's become our new normal. And yet, we all are amazed at her strength. Not long ago, all she would do is lie there, but now she can flip over like it's easy. And then she cries and cries, face getting wet in her own tears and drool, waiting to get helped out of her predicament.
It was when I saw her do this in the night, after a long day full of mama "mistakes", that I realized the symbolism in what I was seeing. That wailing, flailing little wonder was like me.
I had had an emotional day because of some things that almost seem funny now (still a teeny bit too soon). You see, weeks ago my son had been invited to a birthday party for a new friend in the neighborhood. I was delighted that he had made this friend and was excited he was invited. I RSVPed "He'll be there!" right away.
I put it on one of my several calendars immediately, and didn't think about it again until the morning of the party, this morning, when I saw what events the day held. I apologetically texted his mom, "I haven't had a chance to get to the store for a gift, would cash be too impersonal?" She let me off the hook. Even though she told me not to worry about it, I mentally planned to come up with something around the house, or at least 7 treats and 7 dollars for her 7-year-old.
The day rolled on with other concerns-- the screen-time battles, the endless laundry pile, motivating myself to do enough dishes to be able to function in the kitchen. My mind was full of all I "needed to do", and I had failed to set a timer to remind us about the party at noon (let alone figuring out the gift).
About 12:40 I received a phone call and was brought to reality faster than the speed of light. The party was going on! Without my son. This two hour party was almost half-way over and I had forgotten all about it! I rushed him out the door and started to breathe shakily. "What is wrong with me?!" I thought harshly. I made it mean so many more things than a silly little mistake. I started telling myself an elaborate, dramatic story about my son and a scarcity of friends and his irresponsible mom who must not care enough about him to get him to the party on time.
And then a text. Reminding me that this was a water party, and do I care that my son showed up with long sleeves and long pants? In 90-something degree weather.
I laughed imagining how awkward that might've seemed with the other boys in their swim trunks, laughed to think about my son who is the type that wouldn't care or even notice and would just get totally soaked in those clothes, and then my laughter turned to crying again as that terrible inner-critic restarted berating me. "What the heck is wrong with you? It said water-games on that invitation, remember? What are they all thinking of you? Of your son? How will he make friends now? How will you? How are you so darn awkward all the time? Why do you keep forgetting everything?" ON AND ON.
I texted back an apologetic thank you that must've prompted curiosity if I was ok. Because soon my phone rang again.
I don't know why I answered. I was crying and didn't especially want this mom I didn't know well to hear the tears. But I did and we talked.
"Are you ok?" she asked kindly. Non-judgmentally. Genuinely, lovingly concerned.
I shared a fraction of what I had been thinking and how this all made me a bad mom.
She assured me it was ok, and I wasn't a bad mom, and my son was fine and we were both loved.
And we got off the phone.
I felt a little relief, a little loved. But then, almost predictably, the tears started yet again.
Because to add to all the rest I felt embarrassed. Embarrassed that she saw me like that.
It was like I had rolled onto my tummy from my back and I could not roll back. I was crying and my own face was getting wet from my own tears and drool and I was stuck. And even when I'd get turned back somehow I'd do it again and again.
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When my baby does this, we don't feel annoyed (usually ;) ). We don't yell at her or ask her why she's doing that. We know this is part of her development. We know she is progressing and we are so so very proud. We know it won't be long until she rolls from her tummy to her back as well. And then she'll roll wherever she wants to and sometimes she'll hit her head on a coffee table leg or a wall. And we won't be mad or annoyed or yell at her. We'll comfort her and hold her and be so proud of her that she is learning so fast and so much and so well.
Today is probably not the only time I will send my kid to a birthday party late, or drop the ball. I have a LOT going on with my thoughts and hormones and expectations of myself. Of course balls will drop. But when I have other days and moments like that, how will I choose to respond to myself? With judgment? Anger? Emotional abuse? It's habitual and natural and hard to break the cycle of being our own worst critic. But did you know we can challenge that terrible inner-voice?
I started to recover, but still had a red and tear-streaked face when someone was at the door. It was my sister, dropping something off. Again I was given the gift of a listening ear, love, and a lack of judgment. She even shared a helping of empathy, relating when a very similar thing had happened to her. She reminded me how much we moms have on our plate- how much we're always doing and focused on. I was heard, and validated and held.
This can feel so good when we allow someone to hold us in this way. But did you know that the validation we actually crave the most comes from ourselves? We want that mean voice to stop and the person who knows us the best (except for God of course), us, to finally accept us. Why are so many moms so exhausted? A big part is the constant criticism, second-guessing, and downright abuse that we give ourselves throughout the days.
I hope eventually when I symbolically roll over and get stuck again and again, I can respond to me more like I respond to my sweet baby. Maybe it can be more like, "Hey there, it's ok. Look! You're learning so much. You're amazing! You're safe, let me help you. I love you. I'm proud of you. You think you're messing up but this is all part of your growth! I know you're uncomfortable. I know you don't like this part of the motherhood thing. But I love you no matter what. I'm here for you always. You ARE progressing and you are a good mom and we might laugh about this later. But for now, it's all ok. I got you."
Imagine the power of being our own best friend like that. In the mean time, I feel like I'm going through waves of criticizing, realizing, and asking my own forgiveness. And that's ok too. The awareness is the first step to healing that relationship with myself.
And sometimes I need to learn to let others hold me until I can do that for myself. To let go of pride and answer that phone call even though I'm crying, and let somebody tell me those kind words.
To let them hold the mom.
If you liked this post, you'll love the free webinar I'll be teaching in a few weeks: the topic being how to manage and conquer scary thoughts. If you have recently had a baby and are struggling with this, stay tuned on my instagram @douladiane or email holdthemom@gmail.com for more information.