There is a whole genre of “Dear Mom” letters and blog posts out there: “Dear Mom, I know it’s hard now, but it gets better, you just have to trust someone who is further along on the journey than you are…”
I love reading these letters, and have always wanted to write one, but I wondered “Who am I to presume to know what any other mother is going through?”
So instead of writing a letter to the generic struggling mama, I wrote this letter to me, an exhausted and struggling mama, circa 2010.
Dear 2010 Sarah,
I know things are really tough right now.
I know you feel like you can’t parent or teach worth a crap these days.
I know you cried while you were on hall duty the other day as you talked to your colleague about how hard it is being back at work with a 3-year-old and a 9-month-old.
I know you feel panicky every time you are alone with the kids, frantically wondering how you will entertain them and endlessly worrying if you’re providing them with all that they need. {p.s. YOU ARE}.
I know that some nights after the kids go to bed, you sit on the couch and cry, and then go to bed exhausted.
I know that while you drive in to work each morning, your negative thoughts get the better of you and convince you that you are a terrible mother and are making a complete mess of things.
I know you feel overwhelmed by the chaos of raising these little spirited creatures.
Here’s what I want you to know: IT IS GOING TO GET BETTER. SO. MUCH. BETTER.
Part of the reason why is that in a few more months, it’s going to finally be too much, and you will reach out for help. We should have done it a long time ago, but WHATEVER. You are going to be strong and you are going to finally make that call to your doctor. When you tell the nurse on the phone that you think you have postpartum depression and she asks how old your baby is and you say sixteen months, you’ll feel really embarrassed about having waited so long. But she’ll get you in right away. And then it will take a while, but it will get better.
She’s going to talk to you about mindfulness and meditation and medication, and all of those will help you tremendously (they’ll pretty much change your life, in fact).
One of the biggest things that will help is that the kids won’t be so little and helpless forever. Trust me, the days won’t always be this hard.
I know you pride yourself on being all analytical and left-brain, so I know you want some proof, not just cute platitudes like It gets better and Hang in there!
So, 2010 Sarah, let me tell you about the spring break I had with the kids in 2014, which of course did not match up with husband’s spring break because it never does. The kids and I were home together every day, and husband was out of town two weekends in a row. {I know that thought terrifies you.} But guess what? EVERYTHING WAS FINE. In fact, we had a great spring break. Sure, there were times when the yelling and arguing and messes were totally overwhelming. But you know what? We all had FUN. We laughed and played and napped, and I even exercised and READ A BOOK.
One day I took the kids to go on the rides at the Mall of America. BY MYSELF. And we had a blast. When our son {now 4, and totally adorable} had a boneless, flailing-on-the-floor meltdown because I wouldn’t buy him a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle castle, I kept my calm (believe me, that mindfulness stuff will really help!!). We went and sat on a bench, we breathed, and we waited. A few minutes later we were back on the rides.
We got home an hour past naptime and EVERYTHING WAS FINE. The four-year-old fell asleep in the car on the way home and EVERYTHING WAS FINE. A day will come when you are not a slave to naps and schedules.
One day, our daughter {now 7, and brilliant and feisty} spent the day at a friend’s house. So the four-year-old and I cleaned the house. He LOVES to vacuum and Swiffer and help me clean. We had one-on-one time {so rare!} and it was lovely. We had lunch together and chatted and laughed.
IT IS SO MUCH BETTER WHEN THEY CAN TALK TO YOU. Sure, sometimes they sass. But it doesn’t make me miss the days you’re struggling through.
The kids are old enough now that they can play together. They frequently declare “Brother and Sister Days,” when they agree to not fight, and they make up games and play together all day. They actually do fight on those days, but mostly they enjoy playing together and I actually get a moment (or two!) to myself.
We have family movie nights, and game nights where we play Clue or HeadBanz or Sequence. You will enjoy those a lot more than tummy time and rattles and blocks.
Other things have gotten better, too. The kids can dress themselves, and they are FINALLY potty-trained! When we leave the house, I just bring my purse. No car seat to carry, no strollers, no diaper bag, no snacks and bottles and changes of clothes. They both can get into and out of the car by themselves. These may seem like little things, but when they’re little, the little things really are the big things.
I used to think children becoming independent would be terrifying, and in some ways it is, but it is also liberating. I know that right now you’re thinking a lot about your “old life” when no one was dependent on you, and wondering if your life will ever feel like “yours” again. Well, you’ll never get your “old life” back, because life is constantly changing, whether you have kids or not. But at some point, and I’m really not quite sure when it happened, your new “life with kids” just became “life.”
So when well-meaning strangers at the grocery store tell you to “enjoy every minute of this!” or insist that “one day you will miss these days!” politely smile and thank them. And then, in your head, you can tell them to shove it. I know I’m only a few years further down the road than you, and I don’t know how I’ll feel when I’m sixty, but right now, I know this: I DON’T MISS THOSE DAYS. NOT EVEN A LITTLE TINY BIT.
Don’t get me wrong, I do have some wonderful memories of the stage you’re in. Like going to baby yoga classes. And watching little brother laugh at his big sister’s antics, as she danced and sang and ran around the house. I remember many joyful moments, but it doesn’t mean I long to get those days back.
Please trust me when I tell you the crying {theirs and yours} won’t last forever, and the panic and exhaustion and anxiety will all get better. You still have challenges ahead, but these kids are delightful and you are getting better at this whole parenting gig.
In a few years, you’ll be able to hear yourself think again. You will feel like yourself again — an experienced, wiser, more confident self.
Right now, I’m sad that my week at home alone with them is over.
So trust me. It will get better. SO. MUCH. BETTER.
Love,
Me {You? Us?}
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