Oh Cole, I'm feeling the weight of you turning four, and it's heavy.
Not every age comes with the same weight. Two and three somehow didn't feel so big, but four? This one is heavy.
When I close my eyes and try to imagine you as a newborn, it feels so far away most days. I almost forget what you were like as an infant, and this makes me quite sad. Though I know I'll never truly forget, because you are an extension of myself and my arms will always remember the weight of your newborn body.
I'm about to share something very personal and embarrassing with you guys: the contents of my purse.
Whenever I get a new bag, I start out with the best of intentions, and a declaration to the universe. A purse pledge, that sounds something like this:
"Dearly beloved new bag that smells divine and sweet. I will NOT turn you into a junk pile/trash can/collector of random shit. I will carry you proudly, and stroke you gently with love and affection..." (I'm making my husband jealous). And then two months later, what happens?
No, it's not sleep (though that would be amazing). No it's not a spa day, or time to herself, or help with the laundry, or a perfect bikini body. It's a little more abstract, and a little more ambitious...
But every Mom I know wants this: balance.
Yes, I know. It's like the unicorn of motherhood. That thing we're all striving for even though we know it doesn't really exist. But we're stubborn, and ridiculous, and dammit: we want to have it all! Right?
Well folks, I've officially reached my exhaustion breaking point.
I lasted almost three years. I've had a good run. Sure, I've had plenty of exhausted meltdowns up until this point, but last weekend I reached a new low. A new level of energy-sucking exhaustion I've never felt before.
Are you exhausted? Do you have grown-up temper tantrums some days that rival your toddlers? Do you find yourself looking in the mirror thinking, "What the hell happened to my breasts?"
Then yes, you must be a Mom.
Do you log onto Instagram or Facebook and see pictures of other mothers you know and think, "How the hell do they have their shit together?" And then proceed to hate yourself, just a little bit?
Most likely.
Well, fear not my frazzled-mom-friend, I am here to help!
Are you my friend—in real life or online? There's a good chance you are. I have a lot of friends. I'm not bragging, but it's true. I've worked hard to stay in touch and stay connected with my friends. I've even gone out of my way to make new friends (gasp!). I like having good people in my life.
Recently I've been feeling an urge to eat my children, so I figured I should write about my love for them before I actually take a bite out of their soft little arms.
I don't know what it is about extreme love that makes us want to place our chompers on new baby skin, but we do. We all do. Right? We take little nibbles of their toes and cheeks. We bury our faces in their hair and take long deep inhalations, hoping to capture that smell and memory for all of eternity.
I love breastfeeding. I do. I love it. It's been easy (thankfully), it's economical (woo-hoo), and for me it's been a great bonding experience.
What I don't love is how my breasts have turned into shrivelled little ballsacks, but oh well, I'll deal with those later. And by "deal with those," I mean place them on top of expensive water-filled bras. Or fold them into origami shaped swans. Either or.
Recently, one of my best friends had her first baby and she said to me, "I'm sorry I was such a jerk when you had Cole. I had no idea..."
This heartfelt confession nearly brought tears to my eyes. I wasn't expecting her to say that, and I wasn't expecting to feel relieved when she said it. But I was. It felt really nice to have someone so close to me finally understand how I had been feeling for the past two and a half years. It was so nice to finally share stories and experiences with someone I love like a sister.
