Reconstituted Mama

“Mommy, why don’t you like me?” her tiny voice stopps me in my tracks as she shuffles under her sheets. Peering into the dark I try to make out her face.

Like a stunned bird, I whisper, “What do you mean, baby? Mommy loves you very much!”

“But sometimes you don’t like me.” 

The wisdom of a four year old. 

I squeeze her tight, promising over and over that I love her and I like her. 

In the quiet of the midnight hours, my mind trails through every moment that she might have thought I didn’t like her. There were so many.

Raising my voice to a fever-pitch if we weren't ready as the bus pulled up, begging her to go faster, as if the world might end.

Yelling over them if they squealed and hollered too loudly at play.

Shooing them out of the kitchen, too busy to look at their tricks or treasures because dinner wasn't going to make itself.

The way her temper tantrums made my blood boil.

Her words had stung, but I knew she was right. My constant reassurance of love meant nothing if I don’t show it. 

I, who loved her deeply and was pouring my life out like a blood offering for her. How did I get here?

My journey into motherhood started off like most. Dreaming, planning, assembling the crib, sending invitations to baby showers. Baby came, finally, and it was bliss!

That bliss was short lived. Sure enough, I was pregnant again. One month after her first birthday, we grew by two more baby girls. Yes, you read that right; twins.

Suddenly the joy of motherhood turned into fear, exhaustion and failure. Sweet moments between mother and daughter turned into, "don't touch that!" "That's not for you!" And, "Mommy can't play with you right now."

Looking back I realize I was an overstimulated mama running on fumes, trying to keep it all together. At the time all I could see were my constant failures.

As the twins became mobile, my angst only got worse. Everything was triggering. Loud noises. Clutter. All the touching. Everything took 3 times as long. Bedtimes and bath times, getting them dressed for the day. I started skipping anything nonessential, like hair bows or bedtime stories, or my own need for a shower. The pressure to finish daily tasks like dinner, or to get out the door on time was a constant drill against my soul. My body was in full-on fight-or-flight mode and I didn't know how to turn it off.

I was blinded to my own frenzy, but my kids weren't.

A friend once told to be the thermostat in the room, not the thermometer. To set the tone for the room, rather than reacting to the things around me.

In the quiet of that night, the weight of such a heavy question posed from the lips of such a small creature, I realized how badly I was failing her. Enough was enough. I had to change.

I got to work. I focused on steadying my emotions, lowering my voice, slowing my responses. 

I went to therapy.

I started listening. Practiced being fully present.

I gave my girls room to talk. To spin in their sequined dresses as they'd say "watch this!" To tell me about the barbie dolls, the castles they built, the pictures they drew, why the baby dolls couldn't sleep until they were swaddled in my bathroom hand towels. 

I learned what inspires them, what delights them. I gave them room to be curious, and went on the journey of discovery with them. 

Little by little, I changed the narrative in my sweet baby's heart.

Of all the things I did - and I tried a lot! - here are three that transformed our relationship:

1. Smiling

   I smiled at her every chance I could. It seems too simple, but I promise you this was the most impactful strategy out of everything I tried. If I caught her eye, I beamed a big, bold, "I'm delighted by you" grin. I needed her to know I was happy just to be in her presence, and that she didn't have to do anything to earn the joy I held for her.

   
   

2. So Many Hugs

   As often as possible I would reach out and touch her. I'd pet her hair, give her a squeeze, hold her hand, or ask for a high-five. I'd pick her up and we'd dance in the kitchen. I had spent the first few years of her life in survival mode, and while my mind was so preoccupied with keeping everyone alive and fed, I'm sure that little girl didn't get enough hugs or snuggles, and I needed to make up for it.

   
   

3. Reevaluating Everything

   I threw out all the rules. I let go what I thought parenting should look like. I realized I didn't have to raise them the way I was raised. I started working with her instead of against her. I offered her a lot more grace, even when she didn't deserve it. I realized parenting was for the long haul - that I would need to say something 100 times before it clicked, instead of wondering why I had to repeat myself again. I realized she needed time and space to work through her emotions and learn to control them; that I shouldn't expect her to manage emotions that take years to learn to control (and some of us are still learning!). I didn't have to do anything just because I thought it was the "right" way to parent, and I needed to walk with her along the journey rather than instruct her from the sidelines.

I'm still learning. And let me tell you, the preteen era is a whole new ballgame to navigate! But God has given me SO MUCH wisdom and grace as I figure this out. And my sweet girl knows beyond a shadow of a doubt I love her.