progress report (July 18, 2013)

Now is about the time to ask: “So, how is that all working out for you, Michelle? All that appreciating your body, letting your kids be kids, ceasing to compare?”

Well, not so great. I’ve hit the exact day in summer when SAH moms really don’t know if they can spend another single day with their kids. You’re tapped out of creative ideas, it’s blistering hot outside, and their favorite pastime has become irritating each other. I might have also simultaneously hit the exact day in my eight-year SAH career when I wonder if there is much Michelle left at all. She may have been completely swallowed up by her other identity: Mom.

I am a blessed woman; that is for sure. But I am not a balanced person. Not right now. My current personhood is too heavily skewed toward the service of people eight years old and younger. And one of those people is a maniacal tyrant – an adorable, blonde, 30-lb tyrant – but a tyrant nonetheless.

So, yeah, I’ve totally failed on the “letting kids be kids” front. Apparently, I squeezed my oldest son’s wrist a little too hard last Sunday when he and his sister were being squirrelly hooligans in church – attracting far more attention to our row than I’d like. He actually produced big, fat tears on his cheeks, making me feel like that much worse of a mother. Inner monologue: “Great! Not only have you hurt your child in church, but others have now noticed both their unruly behavior and your ghastly response to it!” Mother of the Year!

Miss E was bored and wanted to play the baby, sitting on my lap facing front, then facing back, resting her head on one of my shoulders, then the other. Sucking her fingers. Playing with my hair. E is not a lap child. She is 3' 9" and weighs 44 lbs. With every movement, she would knee me somewhere sensitive and shove my skirt higher on my thighs. Awesome. IMO asked me every other minute if the sermon was over and was also clandestinely driven to touch portions of my body at all times. If you were to have gazed in my direction last Sunday, you would’ve witnessed these two medium-sized lumps playing Twister with me for 58 minutes while remaining partially seated. Hence, the Wrist Squeeze. Ugh.

I realize it is my fault. Who expects a 4-year-old and 8-year-old to make it through an hour-long service without being fidgety? My husband had to work and I’d (thankfully) dropped off Baby S with the childcare angels downstairs. These same two children have done okay in this service, but this particular Sunday they could not hold it together. For the grand finale, Miss E spilled her full cup of lemonade on the carpet in the Friendship Room. Not to be outdone, Baby S overturned his cup on the carpet, too, laughing like a hyena.    

I’ve also used my scary, goblin voice in the last week. I’m not proud of that. I’ve silently cursed my cellulite. I’ve felt envy. But I’ve also experienced triumph and joy. Miss E has completed four swimming lessons without freaking out! We didn't see that coming. And I could not stop smiling when Baby S tried to sing "Happy Birthday" today – messing up both the lyrics and the tune but singing with his whole heart. When he was done, he offered me a piece of his plastic “happy cake.” Thank God for these moments. Had it been real cake, I would’ve eaten every single bite while loving my body and not comparing myself against others :)