#Mommemes for the win?
"Moms are like, 'Thank you Lord, it's bedtime.'"
"Motherhood. That one shower a week feels better than sanity ever did."
"If you're completely exhausted and don't know how you're going to keep giving this much of yourself day after day you're probably a good parent."
Is that really it, though? Don't get me wrong, I love #mommemes and follow a dozen or so of these hilarious Instagramers, spending more time than I'd like to admit scrolling through their photos and quippy one-liners and often laugh out loud at their ability to capture snippets of my time as a parent of an almost 9-month-old boy. As a 30-year-old first-time mom, I'm a millennial; and while not on the cutting edge of it, social media is as natural to me as breathing. However, when image after image, message after message places parenting on the final boss level of Super Mario Brothers or reassures me that my life will be better once a certain phase or age has passed, I start to wonder if I'm doing it right. I don't end most days exhausted needing a bottle of wine to feel human again. I'm glad when holidays give me an extra day home with my son. I take showers on a regular basis, wear jeans and dresses and heels and non-stud earrings, and don't go to bed without emptying my sink of dishes from the day. But when I fill my brain with "truths" like the ones above, my story starts to be written by this world instead of the true Author of all stories.
Of course, one crawler is nothing compared to multiple toddlers or older kiddos running around eating and pooping and making messes of things I just cleaned up. And there are days where I am absolutely grateful that it's finally bedtime or it's Dad's turn to do dinner. But the vast majority of the time, my rhythm of life has adjusted to a house of 3 after almost 9 years of just my husband and me. We've gone camping 6-hours away with a 4-month-old, left baby with grandparents to go to a wedding, taken baby to another wedding, played in the snow and the ocean, and have a two-week road trip planned in a few days for more National Parks, camping, and time with extended family. At the same time, my husband and I have also not eaten dinner at the same time for weeks because that's the witching hour, made embarrassed trips to the doctor for horrible eczema flares, had strangers give us pity looks when baby's screaming bloody murder in Target, and washed more peed-through sheets than anyone should at this point in life. Essentially, we have good days. And we have bad days. Just like before kids, only slightly varied antecedents. The authors of some of these memes on social media, however, have me questioning whether I'm trying hard enough, sacrificing enough, and overall doing it right as a parent since I'm not feeling like a harrowed hag or grateful that the waking time with my child is over so I can finally get some "me" time every day of the year.
I say all this not to judge or condemn those who hear their lives reflected in the quotes above, but as someone who is trying to not lose herself in the process of being a mom. I think it's important I find ways to integrate our son as an increasingly equal participant of our family life, rather than canceling my dinner plans every time he is cranky. I hope I put down my phone from messaging a meme of how my son is Godzilla and chase him around the living room, stomping and roaring like a dinosaur monster. I hope we do pizza-on-the-couch-while-watching-a-movie night and then all do dishes together before bed. I hope I go out with my friends and talk about things other than our children and don't feel guilty that dad put him to bed alone that night. I hope I'm showing him that by taking care of me alongside taking care of him, he sees each and every life as worthy of attention and care, not just some.
Ultimately, I hope my story as a mom is second fiddle to the story of whose I am. And I hope that it is evident especially to my son that my story is being written by the Author of the one to whom we all belong rather than the shadows and shimmers of this world.
My title as mom is important. It can be exhausting and exhilarating and extra Ordinary. But it is not my ultimate purpose or orientation in this life. Instead, my life orients around the Author and Perfecter of our faith. Because, somehow, all of this, even my child, becomes secondary when my orientation and purpose are no longer around things of this world, but around the true Creator of all life.
"Motherhood. That one shower a week feels better than sanity ever did."
"If you're completely exhausted and don't know how you're going to keep giving this much of yourself day after day you're probably a good parent."
Is that really it, though? Don't get me wrong, I love #mommemes and follow a dozen or so of these hilarious Instagramers, spending more time than I'd like to admit scrolling through their photos and quippy one-liners and often laugh out loud at their ability to capture snippets of my time as a parent of an almost 9-month-old boy. As a 30-year-old first-time mom, I'm a millennial; and while not on the cutting edge of it, social media is as natural to me as breathing. However, when image after image, message after message places parenting on the final boss level of Super Mario Brothers or reassures me that my life will be better once a certain phase or age has passed, I start to wonder if I'm doing it right. I don't end most days exhausted needing a bottle of wine to feel human again. I'm glad when holidays give me an extra day home with my son. I take showers on a regular basis, wear jeans and dresses and heels and non-stud earrings, and don't go to bed without emptying my sink of dishes from the day. But when I fill my brain with "truths" like the ones above, my story starts to be written by this world instead of the true Author of all stories.
Of course, one crawler is nothing compared to multiple toddlers or older kiddos running around eating and pooping and making messes of things I just cleaned up. And there are days where I am absolutely grateful that it's finally bedtime or it's Dad's turn to do dinner. But the vast majority of the time, my rhythm of life has adjusted to a house of 3 after almost 9 years of just my husband and me. We've gone camping 6-hours away with a 4-month-old, left baby with grandparents to go to a wedding, taken baby to another wedding, played in the snow and the ocean, and have a two-week road trip planned in a few days for more National Parks, camping, and time with extended family. At the same time, my husband and I have also not eaten dinner at the same time for weeks because that's the witching hour, made embarrassed trips to the doctor for horrible eczema flares, had strangers give us pity looks when baby's screaming bloody murder in Target, and washed more peed-through sheets than anyone should at this point in life. Essentially, we have good days. And we have bad days. Just like before kids, only slightly varied antecedents. The authors of some of these memes on social media, however, have me questioning whether I'm trying hard enough, sacrificing enough, and overall doing it right as a parent since I'm not feeling like a harrowed hag or grateful that the waking time with my child is over so I can finally get some "me" time every day of the year.
I say all this not to judge or condemn those who hear their lives reflected in the quotes above, but as someone who is trying to not lose herself in the process of being a mom. I think it's important I find ways to integrate our son as an increasingly equal participant of our family life, rather than canceling my dinner plans every time he is cranky. I hope I put down my phone from messaging a meme of how my son is Godzilla and chase him around the living room, stomping and roaring like a dinosaur monster. I hope we do pizza-on-the-couch-while-watching-a-movie night and then all do dishes together before bed. I hope I go out with my friends and talk about things other than our children and don't feel guilty that dad put him to bed alone that night. I hope I'm showing him that by taking care of me alongside taking care of him, he sees each and every life as worthy of attention and care, not just some.
Ultimately, I hope my story as a mom is second fiddle to the story of whose I am. And I hope that it is evident especially to my son that my story is being written by the Author of the one to whom we all belong rather than the shadows and shimmers of this world.
My title as mom is important. It can be exhausting and exhilarating and extra Ordinary. But it is not my ultimate purpose or orientation in this life. Instead, my life orients around the Author and Perfecter of our faith. Because, somehow, all of this, even my child, becomes secondary when my orientation and purpose are no longer around things of this world, but around the true Creator of all life.
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