I thought I could do it. I really did. Do it all, that is. The words, I’ve got it, have escaped my lips more than they should have over the past month. Laundry? I’ve got it. Dinner on the table? I’ve got it. Kids need bathed? I’ve got it. Clean the kitchen? Get the kids to the doctor? Play a few board games? Read with Charlie? Get lunches ready? Write that thank you note? Run to the store? Vacuum the living room? Do the Christmas shopping? Make Christmas cookies? Do a craft? Exercise? Maintain relationships? Yes, I’ve got it. Oh, and don’t forget to take in every tiny moment with Meadow because you know. . . it goes so fast.
This three kids thing. . . I’ve got it.
The transition from two to three has been quite smooth over the last month. I’m proud to say that I’ve loaded the three up and made it to the store.
I’ve mastered flipping colorful cards and moving my red person around the sweet filled streets of Candy Land with an infant cradled in my arm.
Christmas cookies? Oh, don’t mess with me. I’ve got your Christmas cookies. . .
. . . and I’ll raise you three kids that are bathed and well dressed in freshly cleaned clothes. . .
Yep, I’ve got it.
Or, should I say I had it.
I had it. . . until today.
Today, I crashed.
Today, I woke up with a migraine headache and a severe stomach ache after crying myself to sleep last night. Some of the tears were exhaustion, I’m sure. Some were likely pregnancy hormones. The rest. . . those came as I grappled with the losing game of tug-of-war I am playing. The game of tug-of-war against time. Maternity leave is dwindling. Meadow is growing. Charlie is six. Chanelle is four. Where has the time gone?
Over the past month I think that I’ve tried to over-compensate for this time passage by internally declaring that I can do it all. Be in it all. Soak it all in. Dwell in every moment. Rest is not an option. . . there is always something to do.
As Chad was leaving for work this morning he saw my battle scars: My eyes that looked like they had come into contact with the boxing kangaroo I used to watch on Saturday morning cartoons. My nose resembled Rudolph’s. Walking in a straight line and talking without slurring my words took far more effort than it should have. And no, I hadn’t been drinking. He told me he would stay home from work so I could get some rest.
I insisted, I’ve got it.
This time Chad wouldn’t budge. He insisted firmly, I’m staying home.
Supermom: I am not.
A dear friend called me on her way to work today. Today was the day she was telling her boss that she is going to cut back on her hours. She wants to spend more time at home with her kids. She was nervous. I feel bad, she told me. I’m not sleeping at night, she said, I can’t turn my brain off. I feel like I’m crazy.
Oh boy, do I ever get that.
I don’t think her call today was a coincidence. As we talked, I felt something. It was a feeling of Comradery. In that moment I knew. . . I’m not alone. In fact, I am in good company.
I am a Mom. We are Mom’s. Each of us doing our best and trying, even if we don’t verbalize it, to be Supermom’s. Without a doubt, there is a long line of women who went before us and there will be a long line of women that come after us who try to do it all. Women who are tired. Women who love, serve, give, go without sleep, and sleep with one eye (or ear) open, never eat a warm meal, and lay in bed at night and over think everything.
Women who say I’ve got it even when they probably shouldn’t.
I will admit, I am tired and overly emotional right now. I am trying to be Supermom, knowing that Supermom doesn’t even exist. And while I would like to close this post by stating my revelation that I need to relax and just do what I can. . . that would be a lie. Tomorrow, I will wake up and continue to try to be Supermom, but never quite reach it. What can I say?
Admitting it is half the battle, right? Knowledge is power? I’m far from perfect. And when it really comes down to it. . . I can think of nothing better I’d like to fail at.