At least once a week I contemplate whether or not I am meeting the standard of being a good mom. What do those words actually mean? When I was younger, before I had children, I compared it to having animals. I had even raised a puppy from 7 weeks old to almost 12 years and he was mostly well behaved, had always been sheltered and fed. I groomed him regularly and he protected me unconditionally. It was a mutual respect and we partnered together. I called myself his mom; but did I really understand the difference between my fur baby and raising a tiny human? At the time I thought that they were synonymous. I realize now, for me, the two are very different.
After a major surgery when I was 29 I was told it was unlikely my husband and I would be able to conceive naturally. Of course, we believed this notion and pulled the goalie shortly after we got married. It would take time to start a family after all… wouldn’t it? Well, if you consider less than two months time consuming then yes. At the time I was watching a close friend battle with infertility and I immediately felt guilty for finding out I was pregnant. In fact, I actually put off telling her for several months out of fear I might upset her. Shortly into the pregnancy we found out I was carrying twins. If I was concerned about being a mom for one then doubling the bundle only doubled the concern. Sure, I had been around babies when I was younger. Holding them for 5-10 minutes, if I was lucky they would fall asleep on my shoulder or nestled in my chest. Having your own baby would only allow for these moments to happen more often, right? They tell you that seeing your baby for the first time is similar to love at first sight. I will admit there was definitely a stirring deep in my core when I held my girls for the first time but seeing them just brought fear of inadequacy.
The first time I saw Addison I went into a calm panic – I could see her across the room but was strapped down to some 2x4s and I had just been shot with morphine from the reverberating pain searing through my neck as they removed Emery from my uterus and started to sew me up. It was a weird side effect of the spinal to have pain in an area not connected to the trauma I was undergoing. She was silent, her eyes searching the room for something familiar. She wasn’t incredibly small, at 6lbs 5oz she was decent size for a twin. Her hair, blonde and matted, fully covered her head. It was only Emery’s wails that seemed to bring her slight comfort. Emery, in contrast, wouldn’t open her eyes at all – she was aggravated someone had pulled her out of her nice warm and cozy slumber. Her wails went straight through me and added a second level of panic. Emery was bald, her round little face was squished and turning red as she let everyone know exactly how she felt. (It’s funny that now I know my Emme still loves to make a dramatic entrance.) Holy shit. How in the world were we going to handle being solely responsible for these two?! There was no way the hospital was just going to let us leave with these two tiny humans in our possession. Wrong.
I read once that being a mom is as simple as protecting, nourishing, comforting and loving your children. Simple? Seriously? My husband and I jokingly celebrated the girls’ first birthday as “Year One of Survival” – for them and us. That first year I questioned everything – after all there isn’t a single parenting book that defines a sure fire way to calm a screaming baby at 2am. They merely provide suggestions. Doubt crept in every time I couldn’t sooth one of the babies. Was I a good mom, even though I felt like I was faking it most of the time? And then it happened. One morning when they were about nine weeks old Addison rolled over my perfectly outstretched leg while I nursed Emery and flew off the couch smacking her head and shoulder on our coffee table on her way down. There is an undeniable fear and sense of guilt that overrides any normal intelligence when one of your children gets hurt, or in this case seemingly hurt. I cried for almost 3 hours, called my pediatrician my husband and my dad, and didn’t put Addison back on the couch without being connected to my lap in some capacity for 3 days. In my mind I had made a judgement error and put my child at significant risk of getting hurt. But that’s the beauty of children – they are resilient and somehow, although tiny, much more durable than one believes. You would think that protection is a topic that might cover more than physical but in my experience with now three years olds that’s not the case. It is mostly about physical protection, “take that out of your mouth,” “don’t stick that in there,” “don’t go in the road,” “be careful,” “be gentle,” “don’t eat that,” “don’t push your sister,” “not on the stairs,” “don’t jump on the couch,” “don’t jump off the couch” … it’s a never ending list. I also realize as they get older it is protection from the world. That is a little more complicated. How can I even prepare them for the cruelties of other kids, the media or even each other. I can’t. I can only hope to teach them how to respond. How to express their feelings and give them a safe place when it all falls apart or comes crashing down.
Let’s talk nourishment for a minute. I tried, when the girls were small, to only feed them the best, homemade, natural, clean wholesome pureed food I could find or make. Then they turned two and all my handwork went right out the window. Somehow my sweet potato, squash loving little tykes would only eat chicken nuggets, hot dogs, pizza and grilled cheese. What was I doing wrong? Well, for starters, I started traveling close to that time and left all of the meals to my husband. And let’s face it, Dave is not a healthy eater. First, he only eats meats and starches and is much more concerned with ensuring the girls have some kind of food verses the type of food they have. But I have watched in wonder the way the girl’s eating habits have evolved, even without being prompted. Emery doesn’t like spice or most sauces, she likes fruit the most and while she eats more pasta and bread than Addison she will tell you when she is full. Addison will try anything on your plate (note, your plate, not necessarily her plate) including salad, broccoli, brussels sprouts and any type of meat. On a scale of 1-10 I would give us a 7 in nutrition for the girls 80% of the time. I mean, in fairness they do meet the questionable standards of the food pyramid.
Another part of nourishing I try to mold is mind and body. The girls started to practice Yoga before they were two. We used Little Yoga: A Toddler’s First Book of Yoga and after a few weeks the girl’s memorized the sequence and we followed it multiple times a day. We still use it now, especially if we get too excited or need to calm down. We also focus on ‘nature’ (the girl’s reference to the outdoors) and spend time outside everyday – unless it’s under 20 degrees with high winds or over 95 unless we are in the shade. The girls go to a development preschool 3 days a week and also get outside time there. We play hard and work our bodies by building obstacles courses in the living room or on the porch with different crawling, jumping, squatting, rolling, hopping or balance activities. If there is an area that we do well as parents and I feel like I set a good example as a Mom it is with playing or physical activity. The girls also know that we spend time ‘exercising’ where we go to our home gym. When I can I do my workouts with or in front of the girls – partially so they can see and also so they can participate. Leading an active lifestyle is something I hope to instill into the girls routine as they get older so it doesn’t feel like a chore.
Comfort is the area I give myself the hardest time because I am not always around to comfort them when they are dealing with an emotion that creates anxiety or sadness. Traveling 3 or more days a week I have to leave it to Sabrina, Dave or another family member to provide comfort when they don’t feel good, their heart hurts, they have a boo boo or just want their mommy. And it creates the worst “Mom-Guilt” ever. I am not even sure how to define mom guilt other than to say it is not being able to do the things your SAHM friends can with their children because you chased ambition, money or other satisfaction outside of the home but then feel guilty about not being able to spend quality time with your kids as a result. Even though it is self inflicted and most Moms are harder on themselves than anyone else, it still causes emotional drain and induces stress. My heart hurts too when I don’t see the girls from Monday to Friday and unlike children, or dogs, I have a better sense of time than they do. Of course Emery will usually tell me that she saw me “yester-morning” even if it was 3 or 4 days before.
Love is the area I have down pat. I love my children so much at times it physically hurts. I cannot imagine my life without them. I love their sense of wonder and really try to allow them to experience different things just so I can see the joy on their face. I am genuinely happy just ‘being’ with my girls. Whether it is snuggling, watching a movie, playing a game, building forts out of cushions, swimming or reading a book.
So, am I a good mom? I am not perfect. I have yelled at my kids, I have spanked (gently, usually over a diaper) my kids, I lose my temper at times and have to remove myself from the situation. I struggle when they don’t listen or actively do what I am asking them not to but I love them anyway. I know that there is no greater gift or joy than watching them grow. And I hope that I never take them for granted.
