Anyone who knows me knows that I am a planner. I need to know when, where, how, why, and have the teensiest of details worked out. Trips, events, grocery shopping, outfits, even next week's nail color. I've been this way for as long as I can remember.
It must be true, then, that opposites attract, because I met and fell in love with a guy who loves to "roll with the punches." It's one of the things that makes me love him so and yet annoys me to no end. When we first met, he would sometimes ask me if I wanted to go for a drive. "Sure!" I'd say. "Let's go. Where are we going?"
"Oh, just for a drive. I don't know, we'll decide on the way."
Um, what? Who does that? What if I'm wearing a completely inappropriate pair of shoes for whereever we end up? Is this a long drive or a short drive? Should I pee before we leave? Why didn't he realize that these were important considerations? Of course, I kept my high maintenance mouth shut for fear of scaring him away, remembering that he did come to pick me up in a jeep for our first date, after all. (That really said it all).
So naturally, when it came time to start a family, he said, "eh, let's just see what happens." And once again, my detail-oriented (and impatient) brain computed this as, "you will be 39 by the time you have your first child." I saw no need to waste perfectly good eggs. Clearly, he hadn't yet familiarized himself with the latest fertility charting software and thus, needed to know how crucial the timing was. Luckily- gratefully- we got pregnant right away. But now looking back, I can honestly say that was essentially the last time I had some kind of control (or any illusion of it, at least) as it pertained to my life.
Because after Ella started growing in my belly, I realized that ultimately, I had no control over whether the pregnancy would be viable. Scary.
I had a due date. She made me wait a week longer. Torture.
I had planned for a vaginal delivery. (I typed up my birth "plan." Don't judge). She apparently didn't like the shape of my pelvis. PAINFUL (and again, scary).
And that was really just the beginning.
Of course, a few things I planned to do did work in my favor. But I learned to view those instances as happy surprises rather than things I was banking on.
Now, almost three years into being a mommy, I realize that most of my days are comprised of minute-to-minute plans that get train-wrecked or abandoned. It comes with the territory when your kids are 20 months apart and both under the age of three. I won't lie- it SUCKS sometimes. Unfortunately, there are times when I'm just selfish enough to take it out on them or Jake. And yet, it's futile. I could cry and stomp my feet all I want (and I'd be in perfectly good company) but it doesn't change a thing. This is what I signed up for. I didn't realize it at the time, but the day that I got my positive pregnancy test, I essentially took my planner, my spreadsheets, my preconceived notions- all of them- and chucked them out the window. I still remember buying mother's day cards for my mom when I was younger (and not yet a mom). All of them- even the funny ones- were streaked with words like "unconditional," "sacrifice," and "selfless." I understood and appreciated (in my own way) that she gave up things for me, but those words didn't carry the same weight then that they do now. As it turns out, Hallmark was dead on; "mother" is pretty much synonymous for "sacrifice."
I'm sure that any mom can rattle off a handful of everyday, run-of-the-mill sacrifices that are commonplace: you don't remember what good sleep feels like. Your hips will never look the same again, for better or for worse. Your dinner is always cold by the time you actually sit down to eat it. You don't always get a shower. The money that you would normally put aside for that manicure or new pair of shoes is now being syphoned into the Pampers Fund. You planned to have a date night, but then one of the kids got sick. You wanted to watch The Today Show, but Peppa Pig- once again- trumped Matt Lauer. And although you're never consciously keeping score, you find yourself stopping mid-diaper change and remembering how you used to be able to leave your house when you wanted to- without any regard to car-seat configuration, naptimes, and/or lack of clean clothes. For a moment, you're wistful. Then grateful. Then exhausted. Wash, rinse, repeat. Every single day. And those typically are the days that you leave an exhausted and semi-coherent message on your best-friends voice-mail because you just want to hear someone else say they understand. That, and you just want to speak to someone who doesn't crap their pants.
And then there are those sacrifices that cost a bit more, that cut just a bit deeper. Those that your children may never fully understand or appreciate. (Maybe you pray that they won't ever have to understand it for themselves). The ones that find you sobbing in the solitude of your shower, or having heated "discussions" with your partner behind closed bedroom doors, or up at 2 a.m. fighting off the monsters in your own closet. You find yourself thinking...
"My kids will always know..."
"I don't want them to ever be...."
"I don't care what it takes, I'll never...."
"I want them to remember that..."
Behind each of these thoughts is sacrifice. A conscious decision to keep your bucket- which is filled to the brim with years of lessons learned the hard way, fears, insecurities- from spilling over onto the ones you love the most, no matter what the cost. Sometimes it does spill over, despite your best efforts. But over time, you learn to balance it somehow. Some days it feels heavier than others- that bucket on one hip, a fifteen month-old on the other, and a three year old clinging to your leg. But you manage. You see the bigger picture. And you hope that one day, when they have buckets of their own (because they will) they'll learn to balance them the way you did. And on those days when their own buckets are filled with the weight of the world, you can then look at them and say, "I know how you feel." There is truly no substitute for experience.
Sacrifice begets sacrifice the way that love begets love. It's impossible to have one without the other.
I had a due date. She made me wait a week longer. Torture.
I had planned for a vaginal delivery. (I typed up my birth "plan." Don't judge). She apparently didn't like the shape of my pelvis. PAINFUL (and again, scary).
And that was really just the beginning.
Of course, a few things I planned to do did work in my favor. But I learned to view those instances as happy surprises rather than things I was banking on.
Now, almost three years into being a mommy, I realize that most of my days are comprised of minute-to-minute plans that get train-wrecked or abandoned. It comes with the territory when your kids are 20 months apart and both under the age of three. I won't lie- it SUCKS sometimes. Unfortunately, there are times when I'm just selfish enough to take it out on them or Jake. And yet, it's futile. I could cry and stomp my feet all I want (and I'd be in perfectly good company) but it doesn't change a thing. This is what I signed up for. I didn't realize it at the time, but the day that I got my positive pregnancy test, I essentially took my planner, my spreadsheets, my preconceived notions- all of them- and chucked them out the window. I still remember buying mother's day cards for my mom when I was younger (and not yet a mom). All of them- even the funny ones- were streaked with words like "unconditional," "sacrifice," and "selfless." I understood and appreciated (in my own way) that she gave up things for me, but those words didn't carry the same weight then that they do now. As it turns out, Hallmark was dead on; "mother" is pretty much synonymous for "sacrifice."
I'm sure that any mom can rattle off a handful of everyday, run-of-the-mill sacrifices that are commonplace: you don't remember what good sleep feels like. Your hips will never look the same again, for better or for worse. Your dinner is always cold by the time you actually sit down to eat it. You don't always get a shower. The money that you would normally put aside for that manicure or new pair of shoes is now being syphoned into the Pampers Fund. You planned to have a date night, but then one of the kids got sick. You wanted to watch The Today Show, but Peppa Pig- once again- trumped Matt Lauer. And although you're never consciously keeping score, you find yourself stopping mid-diaper change and remembering how you used to be able to leave your house when you wanted to- without any regard to car-seat configuration, naptimes, and/or lack of clean clothes. For a moment, you're wistful. Then grateful. Then exhausted. Wash, rinse, repeat. Every single day. And those typically are the days that you leave an exhausted and semi-coherent message on your best-friends voice-mail because you just want to hear someone else say they understand. That, and you just want to speak to someone who doesn't crap their pants.
And then there are those sacrifices that cost a bit more, that cut just a bit deeper. Those that your children may never fully understand or appreciate. (Maybe you pray that they won't ever have to understand it for themselves). The ones that find you sobbing in the solitude of your shower, or having heated "discussions" with your partner behind closed bedroom doors, or up at 2 a.m. fighting off the monsters in your own closet. You find yourself thinking...
"My kids will always know..."
"I don't want them to ever be...."
"I don't care what it takes, I'll never...."
"I want them to remember that..."
Behind each of these thoughts is sacrifice. A conscious decision to keep your bucket- which is filled to the brim with years of lessons learned the hard way, fears, insecurities- from spilling over onto the ones you love the most, no matter what the cost. Sometimes it does spill over, despite your best efforts. But over time, you learn to balance it somehow. Some days it feels heavier than others- that bucket on one hip, a fifteen month-old on the other, and a three year old clinging to your leg. But you manage. You see the bigger picture. And you hope that one day, when they have buckets of their own (because they will) they'll learn to balance them the way you did. And on those days when their own buckets are filled with the weight of the world, you can then look at them and say, "I know how you feel." There is truly no substitute for experience.
Sacrifice begets sacrifice the way that love begets love. It's impossible to have one without the other.
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