I do my best writing at night. I also do my best sleeping at night. Most of the time, sleeping wins (this is one area I truly identify with my astrological sign). The other night, I laid in bed, thoughts racing through my mind. I try to imagine my thoughts as a river. There they come and there they go. On this particular night, three thoughts hit me hard enough that I wrote them down.
The first thought I jotted down: how did I get so lucky to be their mom? Not just to be a mother, but their mother? I am humbled on a daily basis by our boys. They are beautiful. They are complicated. They are happy, sad, angry, and confused by their feelings. They are a product of love and life and all that exists in between. They are both in their own right just the most incredible beings I've ever known.
RB is so vivacious. He's so headstrong, so confident, so trusting. He's talking more and more, forming his own opinions. It's a balance between "no, no want, mama" and "otay, mama!" He's saying "I love you" and says hi to everything. "Hi, Christmas tree! Hi, Happy! Hi, Finley! I love you, Daddy! It's otay, Bubba!" It's the most beautiful thing. Beautiful doesn't even do it justice. RB's hugs are a drug. He leans into us like all is right in this world. He lays his head on my chest at night and says "more" as I sing Frere Jaques on repeat. He's so mad when I have to cut him off, like a bartender saying he's had enough.
LJ is so sweet. So fucking sweet it'd make your teeth hurt. He wakes up in the morning with a huge grin that says "God, it's good to see your face!" He has the most intoxicating laugh. He watches everything we do. You can just about see his brain saying "how the hell did they do that?", then firing his muscles to try to mirror. He is just all smiles. This last week he had a virus and it's only symptom was a very concerning fever that landed us in the ER. On Saturday (I think, time is an illusion), his armpit measured at 102.7. He'd been hovering between 100⁰-101⁰ but that moment I saw my sweet boy was approaching 103⁰, my lizard brain took over and we were at an ER facility before I could even process it. He's fine now, for anyone worrying. He was still so sweet even when he felt like shit. Sure, he was fussy, but he was fussy because all he wanted was to be held, to be in someone's arms, to be safe and to feel the heartbeat of someone who loves him. Turns out his body weight exceeded what the Tylenol to size ratio I was giving him. Anyway, back to LJ's budding personality. He's so curious. Like steals everything he can get his hands on to inspect it. He innately trusts his brother. RB hands him something or does something and LJ is like "yeah, I'm on board with this." He's so empathetic it makes my heart ache sometimes. You're happy? He's elated. You're sad? He's heartbroken. You're tired? Your exhaustion is his exhaustion. You're energized? He's pumped to the max. He's so gentle. So, so gentle. The way he cups my face is almost too much for my heart to handle. He seems to really see people for what they are.
I would say the biggest differences between RB and LJ are the following. First, RB has a natural trust in people, and LJ can see people for who they are. Second, RB's feelings run the room, and LJ feels what everyone else is feeling. Third, RB is a bull in a China shop, and LJ is the China shop. Potentially redundant with the second call out.
Either way you slice it, I truly believe these boys were born to become incredible, impactful men. I don't know what they'll do and I do my best not to dream it lest I box them in to my expectations. I just have this gut feeling that they will, both in their own right, make a difference in this reality we live in. Why was I chosen to be their mom? Being a mom is a dream in and of itself; some people ache for it and it's not given, and others are given it and do not appreciate it. Looking back, I didn't know what this journey would entail, though I expect no one really does. It changes you physically, mentally, emotionally, and chemically. Why was I chosen to be a mother? I don't know.
I'm imperfect, to put it mildly. I've not been a good role model for a large part of my life. I am impulsive. I can be reckless. I've made decisions I question; I won't say regret because they made me who I am, but I do wonder why I chose to do the things I've done. Why did God or the universe or whomever deems the souls that are born unto babies choose the souls I've been granted to guard and see to prosper? It's a question that crosses my mind more than I ever expected. Why was I not only chosen to be a mother, but also the mother to two people who bring so much love, so much light into so many lives? Perhaps when my time comes I'll be given the answer to my question. Perhaps as I grow I'll learn it on my journey. Either way, the position I've been gifted to guard is one I will see through come hell or high water.
The second thought I had that was worth writing: the juxtaposition of life and motherhood. These boys look at me like I made this world, like I know exactly what to do in any given moment, like I have all the answers before the question is even asked. You, the few reading this, obviously know this is not the case.
I am truly making it up on a daily basis. Toddler meltdown? No fucking clue what to do. Baby meltdown? Same fucking thing. Here's the difference between this and any other thing I am confronted with: I have no other option than to figure it out. Work problems? We'll circle back to it. No idea what's for dinner? Order a pizza. Laundry not done? We'll find something else to wear. Fight with my husband? We promised until death do us part and we damn well meant it. Another appliance in the house bit the dust? Queue existential crisis. When it comes to any unexpected daily events, outside our boys, I can find a way to either negate or mitigate my responsibility. It's not the greatest approach, but at times it's the only one I have.
When it comes to motherhood, there is no other option but to do. "There is no try, only do." Maybe Yoda was a mother. It's 2024 - we cannot assume Yoda's gender. It is all honestly trial and error. I've found when RB is overwhelmed with emotions, two things (currently) work. The first is whispering, getting down to his level and speaking softly to draw him in. The second is distraction. Distraction is a slippery slope. I can read a book and, God willing, he'll be curious. RB is big on books. If books don't work, the second weapon in my arsenal is LJ (sorry, Bubba, but Mama has to do what Mama has to do) or the dogs. RB doesn't want a bath? That's fine, Mama and Bubba will take a bath and have a good time! "No, no, Mama, RB bath!" RB doesn't want to eat? It's okay, we'll give it to the dogs. "No, no Happy! RB eat!" RB doesn't want to come inside? Okay, stay outside by yourself (as I watch you through the window and cameras like the NSA - strike that, like the MSA, Mama Security Agency). "No, no, Mama, RB inside!"
I guess what it comes down to is that in my daily, unrelated to motherhood life, I am presented questions I do not have to answer or resolve in the moment. I have the opportunity to pause, reflect, and come back to it. There is no such flexibility in motherhood. There is no project plan. There is no book to read, no manual, regardless of what Amazon tells you. It's all on the fly. It's not always right. But it's what happens. I may not like what I do in those hard moments. I am only human. I get overwhelmed, overheated, over emotional. I regulate myself and these beautiful babies. I reflect at the end of each day without fail and assess what worked and what is not to be repeated.
The third and final point I felt was important enough to write down: you can count on life to start and you can count on life to end. What happens between that is up to you. I think, should you be a reader of this blog and have made it this far, you know what I mean. Our lives as of late have been a journey no one can prepare for. That said, I recognize everyone has hard days, hard chapters. Everyone has seasons that feel unmountable, a Kilimanjaro that is unable to be assented. This is what life is. We all have the same shit going on but in different fonts.
I read something when I was younger, and I think it was a made-up word, but the definition of it was the realization that every person's life is as complicated as your own. I think about that all the time. I drive the boys to their day-to-day and I see people in the cars next to us. I think about that those drivers are dealing with their own version of what I'm dealing with and it's not easy for anyone. I think about my husband, my parents, my in-laws, my friends, my co-workers. There is no such thing as an easy life. Maybe you look at someone and you think they have an easy life; they're just better at masking it from your view. On that same plane, it's important you know other people view you in the same light. Maybe you're like me and you feel like your struggles are painted on your face like clown make-up: there's no missing it. The truth is no one but you can see it. Your self perception is essentially luminol: no one else sees it unless they have the exact right UV or unless you give them the formula to that spectrum.
We're all dealing. Life is like Vegas. You're either a dealer or you're a gambler sitting at the table. But either way you've got skin in the game.
It's a beautiful mess. This life is the life we've been blessed with. I won't question it. All I can do is celebrate it. I celebrate my family, this beautiful family we've created. The life I've been granted is one many wish for and many take for granted. I will let the blessing of it wash over me and I do my best to honor what I've been given.
"Tough times don't last. Tough people do."
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