Stretched

I've definitely been feeling the pull of three kids this week. Monday afternoon was one of the most challenging afternoons in while due to a very clingy baby and the boys with their mounds of homework. I couldn't sit with them at the table without holding Rowan. I couldn't hold Rowan at the table because she kept trying to eat their papers. I couldn't stand by the table holding Rowan because she kept trying to launch herself onto the table from a few feet above. I lost my patience multiple times. With the boys, with Rowan, and with myself. There was no amount of breathing, no amount of telling myself that this is a wonderful moment that would work to focus me, to help me to be present in that moment and smile.

The pull continued as bedtime ensued.  Rowan wanted to nurse for 40 minutes or more, and every time I thought she was asleep and tried to put her down, she woke up screaming. I thought of my sweet boys who were upstairs, watching TV, waiting for me to come and tuck them in. Guilt creeped in and I struggled not to feel frustrated with Rowan, struggled not to yell out, "You're not the only kid I have!" I know it isn't her fault, and I know that as she approaches the one year mark, she is starting to settle in to things so much better. But the reality is that parenting a high-needs baby is exhausting, and I never feel like I have enough of myself to go around. I gave the screaming girl to Hubby, and I went upstairs and rushed through storytime with the boys. The rushing through part weighed on my conscience for the rest of the night. Afterwards, I realized that I was not present with them, that I could only hear the screaming cries from downstairs, and that I really missed out on that special time we share. It's what my Momfulness book calls absent presence:

The state of being present in the body but not in mind or heart is called absent presense and is actually the state that most of us live in much of the time. It's as if we are walking ghosts. Our children know that we're not really there. They don't feel truly seen or heard by us. Love is a body-to-body experience; when we don't make real contact, our loved ones don't experience the fullness of love. And neither do we.

This passage perfectly describes where I was on Monday night during the boy-os' bedtime routine. I was not really there with them. I was struggling internally with my guilt, my frustrations, and I'd wager they could tell.

This is not how I want to parent them. And it isn't the reality all the time; the breathing meditation helps keep me present quite a bit. More importantly, I'm learning to forgive myself when it isn't enough, when I can't find my smile like I couldn't during homework time. 

In moments like the rushed bedtime and really any interaction with them, this is another practice that I think will help. Now that the breathing meditation has started to become second nature, I'm going to add this to the mix.

Eye Contact Meditation

from Momfulness (I'm summarizing/paraphrasing. She describes it much more eloquently!)

Rocking

http://www.flickr.com/photos/gjkindelmann/100637791/

I've spent hours rocking. Hours swaying with a limp, slightly sweaty baby on my shoulder. Hours given way to pure commune with the little miracle I helped create.

Rocking Pacey.  Crying silent, painful tears into his sleeping ear.  Telling him he was all that mattered.  Because in those desperate moments, he was.

Rocking Gage.  Feeling very small and lonely in our little beach house that wrapped us in a cocoon, that caught me as I fell.

There's a different kind of sadness now.  A wistfulness, an already intense nostalgia at what will be finished all too quickly.

So I rock a little longer, hold this baby a little tighter, and linger next to her sweet breath.

Kept

I'm joining in on Six Word Fridays with Making Things Up!

This week's topic? Kept

Kept nursing, even though I cried.
Kept nursing, even though no sleep.
Kept nursing, even through the pain.
Kept nursing; you grew and grew.
Kept nursing; loved seeing your smiles.
Kept nursing; it's best. (for us)

Finding the Buoy

The swim leg of a triathlon was always the most challenging-- both physically and mentally.  Finding your stride amidst kicking legs, trying to find the buoys past the endless sea of swim caps, not being intimidated by seeing the course laid out entirely before you.  Confidence has always been a fleeting companion of mine; I've often (longingly so) wanted to be a girl who exudes confidence and an outgoing personality.  Several years ago, freshly divorced and completely scattered, confidence was elusive.  And quite by accident, something saved me.  Training for triathlons was more than just a physical endeavor, I was emotionally and mentally challenged: to believe in myself, to push through pain and discouragement.  The journey from having to hold my nose underwater, to swimming more than a half mile in open water required patience and courage.  During this tumultuous time in my life, I found a strength I didn't know I had, and it drove me.  On the other side, I found myself more confident, more courageous, and more proud than I had ever been before.

Here I am in September 2007 at the Sandman Triathlon:

Here I am in May 2008. I was the fittest I've ever been:

I look longingly at pictures like these.

And now, here I am. My life is much different now-- I have a wonderful husband and a wonderful new family. I have a beautiful, newborn daughter who delights me to no end. But what is sometimes lost during pregnancy and the months that follow is a sense of self. Pregnancy is preoccupying. Consuming. I told Husband recently, I miss me. I miss who I was. And right now, I'm frustrated with having to work so hard again at getting me back.

Admittedly, this wasn't an overnight change nor was it a nine month change, either.  The total life altering experience of a new baby simply enhances it, makes it more palpable. And now, after nine months of pregnancy, I feel sluggish. I feel frustrated with having to lose baby weight. Again.  Especially stubborn, I'm in my thirties and breastfeeding baby weight.  The confidence that I worked so hard to grasp has dwindled-- I see the swim course before me, and sometimes it feels overwhelming.  Despite the fact that I know confidence isn't only found in physical qualities-- whether it's the size of clothes or the speed of a 5k--  I feel like the person I was is lost and in her place is someone who can barely run a mile and doesn't have time to fix her hair.  Sometimes I can't find the buoy amidst the swim caps.

And I know feeling all of this is completely normal.  I wouldn't trade anything I have now to escape it.

So where does it leave me?  Once again, on a quest to drop weight.  Once again, on a quest to run for ten minutes without having to stop to breathe and recover.  Once again, on a quest to remember that the dust will settle, and I will feel normal again.  I can draw on the strength I found in training and remember to breathe and calmly find the buoy.  To see that life has already begun to groove with this new brown baby of ours.  We are all finding our stride, and through patience and perseverance, a new me will emerge, strong and confident.  Especially with the help of my little running partner.

Strawberries, Old Times, and New Challenges

A good friend and I took the boyos strawberry picking today while brown baby hung out with her daddy. (I use the term 'hung out' loosely because the report is she cried a lot while we were gone.) Baby Diva strikes again!

It did me good to get out with just my boys. I haven't been able to do something with just them since before she was born, and lately I've felt like I can't really given enough of myself to anyone. Maybe that's not accurate. I have to give so much of myself to brown baby that I feel like there is nothing left to give to others. And after having nine years with the boys to myself, it feels off to have spent so little time with them other than doing homework, which is more akin to torture in my book. And probably theirs too.

It was nice to enjoy the boys through the lens of fun. Rather than constantly shushing them (because let's face it, they don't know how to be quiet), we spoke freely and laughed loudly. We pointed out mutant strawberries and oohed and aahed over the perfectly shaped ones. I had time to focus on just them instead of dealing with the noise they make or listening to their endless retellings of the latest cartoon they watched.

I realized that I have to make time like this with them even though it is hard right now. Because I know they are growing fast, and for a moment, they seemed a little smaller in the vast expanse of red berries. They forgot to fight with each other and forgot how to exercise their obnoxious elementary school senses of humor. I miss moments like these.

The challenges that come with a new baby are something you can anticipate, but never fully understand until immersed in dirty diapers and sleep deprivation. And despite having done this twice before, I still wasn't ready for how it would change this time. Being stretched very thin with brown baby is a normal thing. Feeling overwhelmed with the lack of structure is definitely taking its toll, but spending time and checking in with my boys and enjoying them, just them, is crucial to my happiness.