On This Season Of Motherhood
It was 10 am, and already the day had been long.
We had been late to swimming lessons, all three kids had snot running down their faces, breakfast was still sitting on the table, my daughter had removed her diaper and peed all over the kitchen, the baby had yet to be put down for a nap, I had threatened to throw all of the toys in the trash, and I could distantly hear my phone ringing…somewhere.
We were on day 15 of my husband’s 16-day business trip to China.
Over that time my daughter had gotten two new teeth, my son had given my daughter a black eye, we’d all gotten colds, my baby had grown size in clothing and I had fielded every “why” question, every dirty diaper, every sibling squabble, every meal-time disaster, every trip to the park, every nightmare, every everything.
All of it.
I was tired. So tired.
And it was only 10 am.
Not only was I tired, but my inner monologue of self-pity had reached screeching decibel–to the point where all the screams and whines and begging and laughter and fits and questions around me were beginning to be drowned out.
I was on the verge of totally checking out.
And so, like a zombie, I walked from the bedroom to bedroom, putting away laundry while the baby kicked it in his crib and the other two trailed at my heels.
Vaguely I heard a door shut.
Returning to the baby’s room, I found the door closed, and locked, from the inside.
With the baby inside.
I stood there in the hallway and looked at my son, 3 years old, my daughter almost 2.
We were all outside, and behind this locked door was my 3-month-old baby.
At that moment, something exploded inside of me.
I turned to my 3-year-old son and erupted.
And I had told him to stop messing with the locks!
I had told him to stop slamming doors! Did he realize what he had just done?
That his baby brother was locked inside the room, alone?
Although still fuming I set about opening the door.
Certainly, I’d be able to stick a nail/hairpin/something in there and get it open.
I jimmied, I kicked, I screamed.
The door didn’t budge.
Maybe a more skilled lock-pick would get it open, but this doorknob, a few decades old, didn’t even blink.
And so I turned on my 3-year-old again.
I ranted through the list of things he shouldn’t have done, would never do again…and soon he was crying, sitting on the steps in a self-imposed punishment deep in self-hate.
Behind the door, the baby’s throaty yelps were turning to choked sobs.
And then it was time to think.
My husband was in China, my family lives 3 hours away. This was my problem to solve.
And so I thought–Could I run and bust through the door, like they do in movies?
Umm, no, ouch.
Should I get the latter, climb up on the roof and break in through the window?
Ummm, okay, that’s a little crazy.
Should I call the fire department? Maybe.
In the end, I just went to the basement and got a hammer, the big one.
And, after a few minutes of heavy pounding, I broke/bent the doorknob enough to get the door open and rescue my now screaming baby.
My son burst into the room with me, just as relieved as I was, if not more so.
I immediately sat down and nursed the baby, and soon he was peacefully asleep.
I quickly removed the broken doorknob, had a heart-to-heart with my 3-year-old, and then we all headed outside to play in the sandbox.
Tragedy–if there ever really was a tragedy at hand–had been avoided.
Besides the fact that I needed to buy a new doorknob, it was like it had never happened.
My journey through motherhood is full of all sorts of these kinds of stories–part comic, part frustrating, part shameful, part sad.
I wish there was some sort of big takeaway, lesson, moral…something.
But there is none of that. Just maybe (hopefully) a little amusement I’ll find some time in the future.
I guess this is just where I am right now, as a mom of 3, ages 3 and under, with a husband that travels 50% of the time.
I need to remember that this is just a season.
The kids will get older, my husband will be done with this job in a little over a year, everything will change.
As every old lady is quick to remind me when I’m at the grocery store with all three wild animals, these days will soon pass and I’ll be left pining for them.
On days like today, I feel like all those old ladies are full of crap–right now all I am pining for is my husband and an afternoon to myself–but it must be true.
It must be.
I really hope it is.
I just pray that the Lord gives me the strength to navigate these days so that when they are gone I’ll be proud of how I lived.
[…] Sometimes the day just goes wrong. There’s pee on the kitchen floor, an hour ago you only found time to get half dressed and your 3 year old just locked your 3 month old baby in his room, alone. […]
This reminded me of a few stories, most of them when my oldest three were small. They were in 3 1/2 years, then a stillborn which spread out the last three children a little more. (Six and no I’m not Catholic but people have asked.) But those first three with the “headstrongest” one as the firstborn of course, the way it always happens – whew! Once in the drug store, the infant was just sitting up in the buggy seat (you know how the drug store buggies are a lot smaller) the toddler was inside the bigger portion and the maybe 4 year old was standing on the side of the buggy, obviously making it side heavy and the whole thing fell over. The two younger ones had banged heads, all three were screaming, people in the store just looking at me and NO ONE offering to help pick up children. I scratched whatever I had come for. Picked up a POUND of M&Ms, paid for them and went home. Put the kids to bed and ate most of the bag.
Then when baby #4 was little and sleeping, the other three wouldn’t let me have a serious phone call from a friend who’d just lost a parent the day before. Hiding in the bathroom didn’t work – they followed me, of course. So I kept talking while I quietly pushed them gently out of house and went around and locked all the doors. By the time I hung up there was a child sobbing at each of the three doors and I was really, really happy for the quiet neighborhood which wasn’t teeming with DSS workers!
There are plenty of moments that I probably wouldn’t look back and laugh at, but graciously, the Lord has allowed me to forgot most of those. ( ;
I love that you went and bought a lbs of M&Ms. Truthfully, I spent most of my afternoon eating copious amounts of dark chocolate. I wonder if this will be one of those events that the good Lord will allow me to forget…but I supposed blogging about it won’t help in that department :).
Ah! See, I knew I liked you! ya, I was going to add a comment like, “sorry for the life story” but that’d be more text and there was enough already! There, I added my little blog. Mostly pictures for family, then some random tales. I only posted on the moment of crazy one a couple times, it was really just for me.
Btw, I found your blog via Petals to Picots when she posted about your little family cross-stitch.
I love it! Kara over at Petals to Picots is a dear friend of mine. The connections just won’t stop!
Oh Nancy, I think I am completely in love with you. You’re Catholic AND a mom AND you embroider!!!!! It’s like you’re me, but you actively blog. My family blog has been blank for a few months since my mom joined FB and I’m lazy, even with social media.
My third baby was born 5 weeks early and 3 months before my first was 3. So, I had a premie, a 2 yr old and a 13 month old. Yes, it was insane. Totally hard. I started a separate blog for myself to write the stories similar to yours. I titled it “My Moment of Crazy” because things would always seem to come to a head together! All 3 babies screaming, at least 2 of us crying (often me), and someone inevitably getting hurt and of course someone pooped. Always, I would be thinking of calling my husband, yet again, in tears, begging him to come home. But then they would be fed, or the TV would come on, or I would stop whatever I was doing that obviously didn’t need to be done right that second and I’d nurse the baby. Whatever the crisis of the moment was, it was now over. Then I would think, “Whew! My brain didn’t explode. Everyone is ok. I actually handled that!” Sometimes I would call my husband to explain the craziness I had been through or to say crisis averted.
In all honesty, though, I was suffering with post-partum anxiety. That definitely didn’t make things easier. It’s hard to be happy about your baby when your brain shows you frightening thoughts. I won’t mention anything specific because it could be a trigger for some. But it is a completely normal symptom of anxiety and does NOT mean you are crazy. I used encapsulated placenta for a while after the birth, that helped. Then tried progesterone shots (from the Pope Paul VI Institute, Dr. Hilgers), but I would wait too long between doses and just got worse. Finally at the baby’s 6 month appt with our Family Practice Dr, I made an appt for myself, too and just said, “I’m a mess! I’ll take anything so long as I can still breastfeed!” Prozac to the rescue. That and an excellent and highly recommended psychologist. I could literally FEEL the worries melting away in my brain. Much better able to cope. And, I joined my local embroiderers guild of America. *choir of Angels singing* I was stitching again! I hadn’t had a needle in my hand since my first was born. I knew that was missing in my life.
Now our 4th baby is almost 6 months old and I have actually been able to ENJOY her!!! The oldest is 5 and in Kindergarten. I still have 3 kids at home most days. It is hard. It is STUPIDLY hard. Harder than I think it should be, but we don’t have friends or family next door. As a result, I’m almost accosting other moms I see in the grocery and WalMart and asking if they want play dates. The best advice I received when I was at your stage was “lower your expectations.” A friend and a TOTAL STRANGER both told me that on the same day. That HAD to be the Holy Spirit talking if I ever heard Him, when 2 completely unrelated people told me the exact same thing on the very same day. To me, it means that a Good day is when everyone (including you) is fed and relatively clean. Diapers were changed and you actually drank enough water and got enough food to go to the bathroom. If you are exhausted after all that, then sit down. If you aren’t then move those clothes from the washer to the drier so they don’t spoil. You’ll get there, momma. Clawing through one crazy moment at a time.
Emily–seriously, this comment is really a blog post. You bared your soul, offered me a ton to think about and made me laugh. Promise me you will blog again soon!
And, we have one more thing in common. I too went through pp anxiety issues, after my 1st. We did progesterone and anti-depressants–and now that is just my pp plan because I am not not not going back there, ever.
I just can’t tell you how touched I am that you left this beautiful comment. It is so nice to know that you’re not alone, that your not crazy (or a least that your not the only not that is crazy :)). I wish you were my neighbor so that we could get together and stitch while we swapped crazy kid stories. That would be nice. That would be very nice. All the best to you and your 4 kidos. and thank you.