I had my routines. My schedule was precise. I liked things done a certain way, in a certain order. My body woke up at 5:30am on the weekends without an alarm clock. I had plans. There were places to travel, adventures to be had. Then two pink lines threw my order into chaos.
These days my schedule revolves around the needs of the 5 other residents of this house. Long gone are the days of predawn peace, a moment to prepare for the day, read from the Bible and drink coffee in peace. Each toddler was born with a unique prewiring of sorts, that gives them a razor-sharp 6th sense, if you will, to detect when my feet hit the floor. A God-given, frighteningly accurate ability to time their clingy assault. They’re so good, in fact, that they can even sense those first flutters of my eyelids. They are the ninjas of morning clingers.
Moaning and groaning, lamenting and grieving led only to an apathetic acceptance of my new life as I knew it. New moms take note: it didn’t help. A seasoned mom, with grown kids, made a comment once that threw my downtrodden perspective into a tailspin. “This is only a season,” she said. As I regaled my plight to a group of women, the afore mentioned wise one smiled and said, “Ah, I remember that season.”
A season? You mean this doesn’t last forever? A refreshing departure from the depressive responses received from other parents who just shrugged and said, “that’s just the way things are.” But a season, something that has a definitive end date? That’s doable.
Living in a culture that is so torn on the merits of childrearing, bombarded with messages of endless struggles versus Pinterest perfection, leaves an exhausted mom, well, more exhausted. Of course this phase doesn’t last forever; logically we all know that. But that simple phrase turned my sleepy outlook around.
Since that day, I’ve slowly learned to ’embrace the chaos’, with a grateful heart. While I won’t miss tantrums and inconsistent sleep, I know I’ll miss the many other sweet attributes that these youngsters bring into my life. I’ve grown a deeper appreciation for each sticky kiss, every glue-soaked craft made just for me and the minefield of well-loved toys littering the floor. (But not Legos…I will never miss stepping on Legos for as long as I live.)
After more than a decade I have even found that I don’t miss that old structured lifestyle. Stuff doesn’t get done the way I want it around here- so what? At least it’s getting done. And in many cases, vital life skills are learned by the kids (how to clean a floor) and me (patience…so much patience). So embrace the chaos, make a batch of puppy chow and enjoy this crazy, sweet ride.
