There was a certain ease to our days when we were a family of three. We had a rhythm, a routine. A nice comfortable predictability we all enjoyed. It was hard-won, and something I prided myself on as a mama: we may not have always had the cleanest house or the most exciting adventures, but at the end of the day, I knew our family and our home were, for the most part, happy. Content. Peaceful.
When I became pregnant with our second child, I knew things would change. Obviously, there would be physical hurdles, changes to our daily routine—I couldn’t always do the things I could before I had a giant baby belly to cart around. And my daughter (Eva) and I seemed to enjoy many, many more snack times throughout the day. There were emotional changes too—weepy pregnancy hormones to explain to my daughter (and husband!). Feelings of guilt and worry over the effects a new baby would have on Eva—and on my very close, very treasured relationship with her.
But for the most part, I was looking forward to adding a new little one to our family. I could almost feel the empty spaces the new baby would fill up—opportune times for cozy nursing sessions, or another little giggle in chorus with Eva’s. There was room in our routine, our rhythm, for another child, and I couldn’t wait for that day to arrive. We were ready!
Except that it wasn’t that easy.
My son is now seven months old, and I’m just now feeling like I’ve reclaimed a bit of that old peaceful ease in our days. For months, I was ending my days frustrated because I couldn’t seem to get a handle on things. It seemed I could either have happy children or a happy mama—one or the other. Not both. I felt like I was racing around, constantly playing catch up. There was always something to do, someone to feed, something to wash, someone to snuggle.
What had happened to those pockets of empty space the baby was going to fill in so perfectly? Where had our easy, comfortable days gone? I’d had it all figured out, why wasn’t it working??
The answer turned out to be very simple: in the back of my mind, I was holding out for our old, “normal” rhythm. Unconsciously, I was trying to fit our new Family of Four into our old Family of Three mold, and I was getting very, very frustrated that it wasn’t working. We didn’t fit. Shouldn’t fit, in fact—we were a whole new family with new dynamics. We had all changed, for the better I think, and the normal I was holding out for, striving for, just didn’t make sense anymore.
It took me seven months of driving myself crazy, but I’ve finally, finally realized that “normal” was here all along…I simply didn’t recognize it. And as I’ve begun to let go of my old securities a bit and embrace our new rhythm, I’m rediscovering those comfortable pockets of space that we’ll all fit into eventually. And somehow, all this “new” feels…familiar. Content. Peaceful.
Posted by Shannon, a Dot-arilla Blogger