All photos taken by the wonderfully talented Justine Milton of @miltonphoto
I thought it would be easier by now. I thought we would be more rested. More into routine. More together. We’re seven months into inviting baby number three into our family, and I just thought, “if we can just all hang in there until the baby is 6 months old, everything will finally fall into place. Just give it time!” Well, the sixth month came and went and I called this ‘the grace month”. But we’re seven months in and the baby’s grace month is up and I’m exhausted. To be honest, I’m completely deflated, weepy, sleep deprived, and a little bit crazy. I thought it was supposed to be easier by now.
I liken this experience to flying solo to Europe with my three kids aged 4 years, 2 years, and 5 months. I knew it wouldn’t be the easiest flight of my life, but getting to Europe, would be worth it. I mean, who gets the opportunity to spend six weeks with their kids in Europe at such a stage in life? Armed with my dreams and goals in sight, I would do anything. However, as I mentioned, I knew it wouldn’t be the easiest flight of my life. I walked the baby up and down the aisles for 9 hours. I tried to tame my two year old to stay within our zone, who only slept one hour, who kept waking up the baby, while also trying to manage my four year old who simply needed me to read all the movies available at her disposal. It wasn’t the worst experience, but it wasn’t something I’d want to do every day.
Our trip was lovely and it was hard to want to return home. One part I wasn’t looking forward to, was the flight. I knew what it took the first time around, and I wasn’t sure if I was prepared to do it again.
Alas, I was unprepared. The toddler slept for 20 minutes on the three hour car ride to the airport, ran around like a chicken with its head cut off through security and border control, didn’t sleep the whole nine hour flight, pooped her pants … plus a baby who wouldn’t sleep and a four year old was emotional about not being allowed to watch Vampire Babies. I counted down every hour on the flight. Then, we landed. We landed! We made it! We landed but the doors wouldn’t open. We made it and we couldn’t get off the plane. I was holding back tears at this point as my two year old who had slept for 5 minutes during the descent woke up hollering, my baby screamed because I didn’t have space to sway him back and forth, my four year old was distraught by all of the offensive noise. We made it home and it was supposed to be easier by now.
“We’ve all fallen, and we have the skinned knees and bruised hearts to prove it. But scars are easier to talk about than they are to show, with all the remembered feelings laid bare. And rarely do we see wounds that are in the process of healing. I’m not sure if it’s because we feel too much shame to let anyone see a process as intimate as overcoming hurt, or if it’s because even when we muster the courage to share our still-incomplete healing, people reflexively look away.” ⠀
― Brené Brown, Rising Strong⠀
This is my season of motherhood. I don’t have it figured out. Bruises laid bare. I haven’t conquered yet. But I’m in the arena. Vulnerable – fear and shame at the fore – but I’m here. We as a family are here. ⠀
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We all want to share our stories once we’ve overcome and had a great story to tell. But there is power in saying “I’m here. Dwelling. Feeling it fully. And I don’t know the way out.”⠀This is my story.