It Never Gets Easier, Does It?

It's a question I've asked my mom, and a few other more seasoned mama friends a handful of times in the last 2 and a half years. "It never gets easier, does it?" Part rhetorical, part joking, part completely serious. And the answer I get every time is some form of "no."

It is a more complicated answer than just "no" (I know and understand this now). Most of the time, it sounds something like, "Each age and stage brings its own set of challenges..." "It doesn't get easier...it just gets different..." and so on and so forth. Short answer: No. It doesn't get easier.

I have no idea why I would think that motherhood would get any easier. I suppose, upon some reflection in the last couple days, it's because most new things get easier with time. In my work as an Academic Coach, I talk with students on a daily basis who are starting or restarting their educational journey. We talk about the challenges, and the adjustment, and how little by little, it's getting easier.

I think about my running. I NEVER thought I would be a person who enjoyed running. As a kid, I dreaded the mile run at school. But when I started to practice and work at it, it got easier. There are still ups and downs, but running is MUCH easier today, than it was those many years ago running around my high school track. And with practice, it will continue that way.

But motherhood. Motherhood is a different beast.

Now let me say before writing any further that I love being a mama. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I have ALWAYS wanted to be a mom. From the time that I could comprehend that it was a role I could play someday, I knew that it would be one of the most valued roles in my life. And it is, without a doubt.

But as someone who sets high expectations for herself, and is used to doing fairly well in most endeavors I take on, there are times that the weight of motherhood weighs heavy, and the reality that it won't really ever get easier sets in.

Are you totally depressed yet? This is coming across as a total bummer of a post. That was not my intent.

Anyways, the last couple weeks has been a bit of a motherhood challenge. I've always heard that 2 1/2 to 3 1/2 is a particular challenge. And that's just where we are at.

Don't get me wrong. We have many wonderful, relatively easy, happy days. We laugh, we play, we snuggle, we enjoy our days as our little family of three.

And then we have hard days. The days that both Jeromy and I have busy, stressful days at work. We rush to get out the door to work, we rush to get to work, we push through the work day to rush home, and make it through the routine of our life. The days that whatever we do or offer to Linnea is wrong. "I want some milk!" "Okay, Linnea, here's some milk" (screaming) "I don't want milk!" The days that I literally have to wrestle Linnea into her clothes in the morning. The days I get 2 hours of crabby, moody Linnea...and get a report from daycare that she had a great day. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

And we have the nights (we've had lots of these lately) where Linnea wakes up in the middle of the night insisting that it's time to be awake.  I spend these nights up and down the stairs between our bedroom and hers, consoling, scolding, snuggling, pleading, medicating, and everything in between. Those nights I am convinced that I will never sleep again. I watch the minutes...hours tick by, begging for sleep. Just in the last week we've given up the nuk, gone through a rough patch with teething, and realized that the transition to the "big girl bed" is on the horizon... it's been rough. Last night, for example, I was awake from 2:30 until 5:15. During that time, she insisted she wasn't tired and it was time to be awake. When I went back into her room at 6:00, after she had finally crashed, she told me to "get away from her," and said she was sleeping. Oh, little one. Why don't you sleep when it's time to sleep?

I think back to naive, new mama me back in late 2011, when she first slept through the night and I thought, "thank goodness we got through that!" I'm not stupid enough to have thought that she'd never wake up in the middle of the night again. I just thought it would be a little more consistent than the reality turned out to be.

So that's where I'm at. It's certainly not horrible, and I know many parents have dealt with so, so much worse (including my own parents). But I am a perfectionist. I'm a planner. I'm a worrier. I'm emotional. All these parts of my personality are still making peace with the fact that motherhood is imperfect, unplannable, filled with worry, and an emotional journey. I am still making peace with the fact that it never will get easier. Just different. As I continue on this journey, I will promise myself to enjoy the moments where all is right with the world, take the ones where all is not in stride, and always remember that "this too shall pass" and that it's not supposed to be easy. And that's okay.