Motherhood

Dearest Rowan and Sutton,

I have lived most of my life enslaved by the disease of perfectionism-I just thought you should know. I am my own worst enemy.  I NEED to be perfect.  The expectations I have for myself or others around me cannot be met by any human.  When I fail to perform at a level of perfection, I am too hard on myself.  Instead of looking at the good, I always think about what I could have done better; and by doing so, manage to kill the joy of really great moments.   

Looking back I can see many situations God placed in my path to try to break me.  Not to harm me, just to break down my pride, for my own good.  To break down the idea that I was self-sufficient or that I could do any good thing on my own.  It only took 29 years.  Don’t ever let your dad tell you that I’m stubborn-because I’m not…I’m just determined! ;)

After trying for several years to get pregnant, unsuccessfully, I finally broke.  I finally realized I could not just try a little harder and make a baby.  I finally GOT it!!  I acknowledged that I was not God.  Of course I knew I wasn’t God but I had made myself the god of my own little world and tightly controlled everything around me because I really thought I could do it better.  I had adopted the false mentality of our society that “God helps those who help themselves” or the mantra of my generation that “I deserve to be happy” or the perspective of most young adults who are raised in church that “if you follow all the rules and you are a really good person, God will give you the desires of your heart.”  The common denominator in all of these ideals is ME.  I had to come to grips with the fact that my life is not my own and the world does not, in fact, revolve around me.  That’s a painful, uncomfortable and raw place to be.  But soon after I got there, God allowed me to become pregnant.  And then pregnant again soon after delivering to really show off and remind me that I am not in control, just in case I forgot!

This letter is to say “Thank you” but I don’t know that those words will ever be adequate.  Thank you for continuing the work of breaking me down.  I have never felt so raw- so broken.  It’s like my heart is open and bleeding for all to see, revealing any illusion that I can hold anything together on my own.  Thanks to you, everyone can see that my perfectionism was always a façade.  Just when I think I have it all figured out- literally minutes after I say “I’ve got this” the chaos of toddlerdom sends me back to start.  The house is a mess. Permanently.   Sometimes you trip over toys that I have let sit out for too long.  Your flannel jammies get covered in dog hair that I have neglected to vacuum.  Often you eat too much sugar.  And I’m pretty sure I meant to feed you gourmet, organic meals instead of a steady rotation of hot dogs and PB&J for lunch.  Don’t worry though- the hot dogs are nitrate free at least.  My grocery bills have doubled since I don’t have time to be frugal anymore.  Our weekly shopping trips consist of me running through the store like a race horse, throwing anything and everything into the cart while opening boxes of snacks to keep you happy.  Letting you watch Dinosaur Train has been my only method to getting a warmish dinner on the table.  I never go to the bathroom by myself.  Never.   I never think about what I want to do anymore.  Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror reveals a person I don’t recognize- with more lines around the eyes and a stomach covered in stretch marks, from back to back pregnancies, which explain why I have a closet full of clothes I most likely will never wear again. 

Yes, you have changed everything about my life, you have successfully turned it upside down…and I am forever grateful.  I actually don’t like who I was before the two of you.  I was too focused on myself to really love others.  I cared too much about what others thought of me and I was vain.  Thanks to you, I have never been so joyful, so content, so complete.  The messes help me to remember that I am fortunate enough to have children at home that I get to clean up after and a husband who works hard so I can spend every waking moment with you.  Thanks to you, I neglect a lot of housework because I would rather go to the park or have a dance party and listen to the two of you shriek and laugh instead of clean.  I never have to turn on the TV for background noise just to tolerate the silence.  I have learned to embrace the mess! But old perfectionist habits die hard, and I often ask your forgiveness when I am short with you because you want me to pick you up instead of cleaning the entire cup of milk you just dumped out.  For fun.  I’m pretty sure in 20 years my house will be spotless but I will be mourning this time that I can NEVER get back.  Plus the dog hair and dirt are building your immune system, anyway! And reading the same book for the 10^th time in 1 hour is a great excuse to give you PB&J again instead of cooking.  Long, hot showers are overrated.  And I try not to beat myself up about the stretch marks because so many women never get the opportunity to carry a child.  Those lines around my eyes just mean I laugh more- way more.  I actually don’t remember laughing much before you guys, which means that your dad MIGHT have been right about me being high strung.

Motherhood is the hardest job in the world, and the best job, by far, I have ever had.  Every night I go to sleep humbled and broken- knowing full well that I did nothing to deserve you and thanking God for this lesson of grace that I get to live daily.