A letter to the three headed MOMster

To my beautiful girl.

There is so much I want to say to you its hard to know where to start. Lessons I have learned from life the hard way with heartbreak and tears, and friendly advice from one girl to another. I want you to know that I will always be here for you, I will always love you, even when you make me crazy. You will always be my baby girl, and I will always be your momma.

My sweet child, in the 8 months you have been on this earth you have taught me more about life than I have learned in the 24 years I have been alive. Because of you I have broken down and examined every tiny piece of myself and the way I fit into this world.

You and I started out with a bad hand, you were my 2^nd baby, giving me two babies under two, your father had just learned that his job was in jeopardy, and I was enrolled to finish up my degree three weeks after you were born. You had pretty extreme colic that was aggravated by almost every thing I ate which severely limited my diet, and you screamed from pain well in to the early hours of the morning. I was exhausted, physically, mentally and emotionally. I was hungry, and tired, and could not for the life of me make you feel better. I felt as though we couldn’t bond, that I had failed as a mother because I couldn’t ease your pain. I felt hopeless, like there was no way to make the crying stop, and my patient, caring ways quickly changed to disconnected survival. Instead of feeling the desire to rush to you when you cried, I prayed that anyone other than me would pick you up and try to help you. There were moments in the middle of the night when instead of singing to you I was begging you to sleep and shouting at you “nothing is wrong, you wont nurse, you don’t have a wet diaper, stop crying!” I had completely lost sight of the Mary Poppins mother I had once been and had transformed into an evil green witch. I hated myself, I hated myself every time I was cold with you. I prayed constantly for patience, for love, for understanding. I desperately needed a break, to step outside and clear my head so I could come back in with the kindness you deserved while you worked through this horrible stomach pain that you had been suffering with since the moment you entered this world. But there was no break, there was hardly time to eat, you and your brother were all consuming (as you should be as babies) from sun up to sun down, satisfying the needs of two small children with no ability to care for themselves required more than I knew how to give, and I wasn’t learning fast enough.

I carried so much guilt, so much shame. I didn’t want anyone to know that I had shouted at a innocent 2 week old baby because she wouldn’t stop crying. I thought I was a monster. What was wrong with me. Not only did I shout at you, but every single time you cried your 18 month old brother would start pulling at me, desperate for the attention he knew he was about to lose when I picked you up to try to sooth you, so I would shout at him as well. I felt trapped and overwhelmed. It was two against one and I was losing miserably.

As the months rolled by your pain eased and you became this beautiful bubbly little girl. Your brother became slightly more independent, and the two of you began playing together more and more. My frustrations were replaced with laughter and the nights, though still long, were becoming easier. But I still held on to the guilt and shame from my horrible failings as your protector. Finally I opened up to a close friend of mine whos parenting I strongly admired. I was terrified because I was certain she would think I was a three headed monster. Surly she had never treated her children that way. I was met with a much different reaction. Not only did she treat me with kindness and compassion, she shared similar stories. She listened to my confession and met them with equal confessions and offers to help when I needed it. She told me I was still a good mom. And that it was healthy for her to hear me say these things because SHE always felt like she was the three headed monster and that I was the amazing compassionate mother. Finally I could breathe. My mentality shifted. While I still felt horrible that I mistreated you in your time of need, I finally realized that I am a mom, but I am also a human. While I will always hold myself to the highest standard of parenting possible, I may not always reach it. I will do my best to be on the floor playing with you and your brother whenever I can, but I will no longer beat myself up if you have to play alone with your toys for 20 minutes while I cook dinner. I still pray to god for patience and kindness, I ask him to keep me from shouting and remind me how little you are, but sometimes I still fail. I still have days where after telling you or your brother no in a nice voice and suggesting an alternate activity for the 50^th time, I shout, more than I should. I am human, and I am doing my best. My shouting does not take away from how much I love you or your brother, and I will never accept it as the way I am willing to talk to you two so it is something I will continue to work on every day. However I will not hate myself, and walk around with shame for being human any longer. Because I am a mom, but I am also a human.

I am telling you this baby girl, because there will come a day that you will have babies of your own, and you will want to be everything to them. You will want to be perfect in every way. You will read books about discipline free parenting, you prep every cranny of your house to make sure it is safe for this perfect little human to live in, you will consult doctors, friends and google the first time your baby sneezes. You will stay up all night long singing lullabies to sparkling little eyes that refuse to close, and every once in a while, you will lose it. You will slip and say something out of frustration that you will then punish yourself for for months on end. You will believe that you are the only person who has ever been so mean to such a perfect little being. You will hold back this horrible truth when you are around your friends and you will feel so isolated, all because in a moment of weakness you shouted when you shouldn’t have.

Don’t. Don’t do that to yourself my angel. Don’t hate yourself for being human. Children push you far beyond your breaking point and as a parent you are supposed to stand there on the verge of insanity, and respond with love. It is impossible, yet we do it. 99% of the time, we pick up that tiny human that is yelling and kicking and telling us NO in their meanest voice, and we tell them we love them while their little limbs flail at our face, but every once in a while we shout back. We all do it. We just don’t talk about it because we are too busy filling ourselves with shame. I want to change that.

            Since that first day that I told my friend about my terrible horrible secret I have been a woman unstoppable. I have been extremely honest with far too many people. When someone asks me what it was like to have a infant and a toddler I tell them how hard it is in the beginning, I tell them about the frustrations and the hardships. I tell them about the times that I responded in a way that I shouldn’t have, and almost every single time they thank me for being honest because they have felt that way too.

Baby girl you are going to be an amazing momma some day, and when you are I want you to promise me that you will know that every day that you wake up and try your best is a day that you have succeeded. Your babies will love you, you will be the kind of mommy that your friends look at and think “she would think I was a horrible person if she knew that I shouted at my child because she is so patient with hers.” But you will have your moments. They will come fast and leave just as quickly and you will feel terrible. So please know my sweet girl, how amazing you are. How loved you are. You are learning as you go. There is no manual. Its hard, really hard. But sooo worth it. Don’t lose  faith my angel, you’ve got this.