He is One

I tiptoe down the stairs as I do most mornings, as if I can sneak by their dreams unnoticed. I am reminded quickly that this morning is different than most by the blown up balloons I step over on my way to the kitchen. There is a birthday in the house today.

I turn on the oven and pull out the tube of cinnamon rolls. I remember the cakes I made for the first two children. One a homemade carrot cake sweetened with natural sugar, for the first child of course. The second a boxed cake mix, slightly less effort, but still in the shape of a donut because I saw it on Pinterest and knew it would delight his older sister. Now we arrive at another first birthday, my last first birthday, and all the sweet child is getting is a pile of processed cinnamon rolls with a few sprinkles and a candle on top.

He will love it.

I sit on the couch waiting for the oven to beep telling me it is ready. My coffee hot in my hands, I let the steam warm my face as I ponder this day. I had hardly had the opportunity to think about it up until now. But in this quiet moment I give in to the thoughts.

He is one.

And I am done.

I am done with the newborn smell, the soft squeaky sounds they make when nestled on your chest.

I am done with the nighttime feedings, those extra hours that feel like pain and torture for months on end and now a mystical moment that can only be appreciated on the other side.

I am done with the bouncy seats and the play gym and the boppy pillow and all the paraphernalia that felt like we had to redecorate around because they were forever going to be a permanent fixture in our home.

And now they are not.

I am done with the first teeth, the first taste of food, the first roll over, the first "mama."

There are endless firsts ahead of me. But this is the first time I am experiencing the lasts.

When this one came into my life I swore it would be different. I would be different. I would enjoy every minute. I would do it right. I would let go of it all. Because he was my last. And I would make it all count.

On the contrary, I believe my heart was at its heaviest this year. I wasn’t built to manage a lot of emotional chaos. Raising, managing, loving three children is the recipe that makes up emotional chaos. And in the midst of all of it, I worried I wasn’t the strong person I promised I would be.

In other news, I smiled more this year than any other. How does this make sense?

I don’t have any empirical evidence to back this up. But I believe this child was meant to be my last. He was meant to remind me again and again and again that I am enough, even when I feel like I am nothing. He challenges my heart in his very presence as another needy member of the family, and then in the same moment returns me to the heart of it all with his eye stoping grin. He was meant to come into my life, into our lives, to teach us that through the struggles and the mess ups and the moments that feel like disasters, there is also room for so much laughter, so much joy, so much heart aching can’t live without endless love.

It doesn’t add up. It is every definition of a cliche. And it is also so very true.

My children play a part in the world as a teacher for me, each in their own way. And this is the lesson he was meant to teach me. Life is hard. AND life is beautiful.

I am still learning so much from being a mother of three. The lessons have only just begun. My gut reaction to processing this year is to tell you what I am doing wrong. But I know better than that. While examining our weaknesses is a part of growth, I also know we are stronger when we recognize our strengths. Perhaps if I go first, you’ll feel strong too.

In no particular order, here is what I did right this year…

I held him. When he was sleeping, I held him. When he refused tummy time, I held him. When he could have been on the floor exploring his own independent play, I held him. In my past life, I made a career reminding parents of the values of putting children down. I counted the minutes of tummy time. I suffered through short nap times because I did not want to create bad sleeping habits. And when I picked up my babies and held them because that is all they wanted, I beat myself up with guilt. Not this time. This time I did what I wanted to do, what he wanted to do, and what worked for our family. I held him. And in my arms, he was happy. All the worries I had before, while they sneak up on me every now and again, I discovered they were not the alarms they needed to be. He learned to sleep. His motor skills are growing and developing at the rate in which he and I are both ready. And because he is happy, I am happy. This is all the growth either of us needs. I will never wish he was in my arms less.

I got angry. Maybe this seems like a negative. For me, it is not. This is an area I have struggled with in the past. I am a personality (you may call me a Nine on the Enneagram) who seeks equilibrium, peace. Anger was an emotion I avoided, I feared. If I did feel anger, or worse showed it, I apologized profusely with shame. Not this year. This year the emotions were too much. This year, with an additional person draining my resources, the color of my emotions was stronger. This was the year I felt, and declared, anger. Instead of covering up my outbursts as "disappointments" I learned to say "I am angry."The remarkable part of this story is that my children didn’t feel harmed by this. They only felt more seen. Mom has tantrums too. And then she takes a deep breath, apologizes, and moves on more rationally. I want my children to see all of me. I want them to see how a healthy person who loves them very much can feel what they feel too. There is space for all of the feelings. Theirs and mine.

I learned how to be enough. This would be better clarified as "learning" as this is a works in process for me. But sometimes what we do right is admit we are in a space of learning. If you want to let go of perfection, than have a third kid. One child is hard, until you gain your footing. Two will shake things up. But balancing two sides is possible. God gave us two hands for a reason. But three is a lesson in learning to let go of balance. There is no such thing. Someone will always be waiting for their needs to be met. It is just math. This was a painful awakening for me. I fought this reality for months. I felt like I was always failing someone. This is why the third was held a lot. This is why I got angry. A lot. Until slowly I came around to the idea that I could do no more than I was doing. I could see this as a failure. Or…I could inch towards feeling like I am enough. What I am giving, it is enough. It is all I have. And therefore it must be enough. I am enough. For them. And for me.

I said "It’s fine." In the process of being enough for my children, I had to learn to let things go. Stretching screen time rules? It’s fine. Questionable nutrition? It’s fine. Irregular sleep routines? It’s fine. It’s all fine. Before my third, I took strong stances on parenting rules and researched decisions heavily. But I recognized these rules were tied to control, something that no longer suited my mode of survival with three children. With every new strand of inflated control I released from my grasp, the lighter I became. Rules and boundaries have a place. Also, sometimes parenting is more fun when we just say "It’s fine."

***

I hear him stirring now through the monitor, his little sing song voice lulling me out of my quiet morning moment. I could leave him there for a few more minutes. He can entertain himself for awhile. But this morning I move more quickly than before. I’m eager to pick him up, wrap my arms around him, feel his soft chubby hands patting my face as he likes to do, his way of saying "I love you."

"Happy Birthday, my Leo!"

He smiles at my face but quickly asks to eat, as they all do at one, not aware this day is any different than the rest. To them its just another day. I like the humbleness of this thought. It really is just another day, another opportunity for him to teach me something new.