Chapter Two: Confessions One Year After Two Under Two

Almost exactly one year ago today, I wrote an article for Charleston Moms titled Goodbye and Goodnight: Lessons Learned at the Close of Two Under Two. I wrote the article while my husband drove us through cornfields somewhere in the middle of Indiana . . .

My family was on a road trip, driving from Charleston to visit family in Minnesota. My toddler and baby were asleep in the back seat. The sun was shining bright, and as we traversed the deep greens of farm fields under a blue Midwestern sky, my ragged body and tired soul felt hopeful. I was ending one of the most challenging chapters of my life. Right?

One year later, I’m back in the cornfields of Indiana, driving in the rain, and listening to my two toddlers discuss what items from their Chik-Fil-A breakfast our chubby Cocker Spaniel, Banjo, is enjoying most on the floor of the car. There are giggles, punctuated by sharp admonishments to please not use their milk to paint the car windows.

When I told my husband I was thinking of writing a sequel to last year’s article on raising two children under two, he good-naturedly snickered and said, “What are you going to say? It’s still hard?”

Yes.

It is still hard, mamas. Is this a helpful or productive or encouraging thing to share?

Yes. I think so.

Chapter Two: Confessions One Year Later

It Is Still Hard

As mothers, we are told by well-meaning parents on the other side of this stage to savor these days.

When my almost three-year-old painted that chubby Cocker Spaniel mentioned above with green acrylic paint, my husband said with a heavy dose of sarcasm, “Let’s cherish this moment,” as he went to bathe our daughter and dog, and I went upstairs with the carpet cleaner to assess the full extent of the masterpiece.

We are flooded with Facebook and Instagram videos with tips and strategies for how to navigate these situations and this busy life in a way that allows for enjoyment and contentment. The pictures we see on social media most often depict full, rich lives with happy, smiling children. I often feel in pursuit of something unattainable.

I feel like I am treading water while holding two toddlers and all the accompanying gear. There is so much guilt that I’m not enjoying or cherishing the blessing of that weight and that gift as much as I should.

I am here to raise my hand and say,

“It is hard. Period. And admitting this without adding some kind of encouraging qualifier doesn’t make me less of a mother.”

Doing something hard requires courage.

And to do it well does not require that you enjoy it.

Storming the beaches of Normandy, and marching from Selma to Montgomery required bravery, sacrifice, and great love. The most significant achievements and advances in human history were the hardest fought. I consider motherhood one of them. To do it well requires all we can give, but not that we enjoy it.

“AND” There Is Joy

I am also here to say that while there is drudgery in the everyday, there is also great joy. The current rages at the surface, but there is still water underneath. I go to bed most nights feeling physically and mentally exhausted, and overwhelmed, and sometimes dreading running the same drill again the next day. But under all that, there is a peace and contentment in knowing I have the privilege of engaging in the most beautiful, meaningful work in the world: raising children.

My sister posted this quote by Anna Muthur on Facebook recently. It has helped me re-center and find that contentment and joy that sometimes feels buried under all the diapers and messes and tantrums . . .

“Gratitude is simply adding an ‘AND.’

It’s overwhelming AND a privilege.

It’s tiring AND incredible.

It’s monotonous AND wild.

Gratitude increases your peripheral vision.

Instead of focusing on the

hard

bad

sad

scary.

You ALSO see the

good

privilege

wonder

joy.”

Taking a moment to add the “AND” has helped me find the joy . . .

My toddlers just used a lovingly prepared meal as an implement in an art project AND I can provide my family with nutritious food to eat and a home in which to make a mess.

My younger two children are both screaming in the car because of a disagreement (my older daughter calls it the “Sibling Symphony”) AND my children are healthy with brilliant little minds of their own.

My 21-month-old son went to war with a bucket of blackberries, ruining his new shirt AND he is growing up on a wild Sea Island, learning to love the outdoors.

My daughter escaped the house after her bath in fresh pajamas to make a “mud castle” AND I get the privilege of seeing where her ingenuity and creativity will take her when she grows up and leaves the dirt road where she was raised.

We are driving through an Indiana rainstorm AND I see patches of blue sky.

This chapter is hard and long AND joyful and fleeting.