Monday, April 15, 2013

mid-point burnout

Sometime in the predawn darkness, my two-year-old climbed out of her crib, shimmied up her shelf, climbed onto her windowsill, took off her diaper, and pooped.  


I was not the one to discover her, or it.  No, I was still asleep, because I had been up until 2 a.m. with the baby, who, regardless of philosophy, approach, food intake, or my pleas, is still waking up every two hours.  Every single night.

There was a time when I used to say that two years old was my favorite age.  Now, for the life of me, I can't remember why I felt that way.

I love being a mom, friends.  Yesterday I whispered to Brian, "I can't believe we did it.  I can't believe we have four kids."  I said it in the spirit of one who has just climbed a mountain, or finished a race.  There was a time when I didn't know if I would be a mother at all, or if Asher would be my only child. Now I have four.  Four!  I love them each and them together - seeing how gentle Silas is with his baby brother, or how Asher naturally holds Emmy's sleeve in a parking lot.  I love discovering, for instance, that Silas really loves poetry, and has a natural aptitude for drama and literature.  Or that Asher is like a little train - if you give him the right "track," such as swimming lessons or a bike park, he will take off on his own.  I love my kids, and I love seeing their little personalities and relationships unfold.

But I am utterly burned out on the infant and toddler stage of life.

Climbing out of high chairs, screaming in car seats, climbing out of cribs, insisting on a certain food then screeching "NO WANT THIS!" three minutes later, waking up every two hours, refusing bottles, not allowing anyone else to rock or comfort them, and pooping on windowsills, for crying out loud.  I'm done.  DONE.

Except I'm not.  In fact, I'm exactly halfway there.  Two down, two to go.

I'm so glad God has given me four children.  I can't wait to see who we will be, individually and together.  But I have no idea how I'm going to get through the next four years.  All I can do is take it one windowsill at a time.


Lisa said...

Hilarious, but only because I can imagine that exact scene happening here! Sometimes it is my kid, and sometimes it is one that I babysit, but I am utterly and completely baffled by the things that the under-3-year-old set come up with.

Kendra said...

Mercy indeed.