Stories

With one swoop, I got dinner started. I walked into the kitchen, flipped the knob on the oven to 400, made a brisk 180 turn to grab a pan from the highest shelf across the kitchen, remembering to hit the faucet on the sink mid-turn to start running hot water for the corn. If the water was hot already, the water would boil faster and dinner would be ready sooner. I finished my spin on tippy toes, bringing the pan down to sink where the running water was already turning warm. “I’ve got this,” I thought. It was one of the first times since having two kids I thought maybe motherhood – the endless cleaning, the cooking, the discipline – wasn’t so hard after all. I just started multiple components of dinner prep with one graceful ballerina spin across my kitchen. Maybe we are ready to have another baby?

The third child scenario… I analyze it constantly. Ever since Talitha turned about six months old, “baby number three” has become a permanent category in my brain. It’s a topic worthy of inspection, one shrouded in a bit of fear. We want another child… we think? But when? Our first two are fairly close in age, just 20ish months apart. Do we have another one soon and “get the baby stage over with?” We’ve heard that’s a good method. Or do we wait? Would a three year gap be healthier for our family? Other moms tell me a gap is best. They tell me I will feel more sane if we wait a longer next time.

And which baby will be my breaking point? Sometimes I feel like I’ve transitioned to life with two kids fairly well. But on other days I’m certain I’m on the verge of a breakdown and question if I should have any more kids at all? Every mom has her breaking point right? That’s what I hear. For some moms, it’s number one… a rough entry to motherhood with an unexpected c-section, postpartum depression, or a colicky child. For others, it’s number two. Two young children in need of just one mom. It’s completely overwhelming. But then I’ve heard three is the real test of one’s will. The breaking point. It’s when things become a “circus” because you are officially outnumbered. These are the stories I’ve heard, but I don’t know which one is my story. I want a third child, but I don’t ever want to reach my breaking point.

Then I hear good stories too. The kind of stories that give you hope. That convince you that you can handle motherhood – no matter how many kids you have or how many bumps there are along the road. My friend had her fourth baby and told me this, “I get it now. I don’t necessarily want any more children, but I see why people are okay having five, six, seven kids. When you hit four children, you’ve reached “official big family status.” You have a huge car and your house is chaotic and you think “would one more kid really alter things that much?”

Recently, I was talking to a friend who is a mother of five, all spaced approximately 18 months apart. I haven’t done the exact math, but that’s a lot of kids in not very many years. She told me it’s not actually as hard as you would think, because by the time you have four or five kids you have so many systems in place that make life easier. Tasks that overwhelmed you when had only one or two children are now a breeze. I thought back to my single-handed dinner prep 180 around my kitchen and nodded my head in agreement. Maybe my systems were falling into place?

I hear stories from moms all day long. You hear them too. At your MOPS group. On play dates. The never-ending stories from the Internet. One is overwhelming. Two is a tough transition. Three is a circus. Four in big family status. Five is easy. Breastfeeding is hard. Nursing is the best. Discipline is difficult. Just spank. Never spank. Sleep train. Co-sleep. My time spent reading in graduate school pales in comparison to all the narratives I have read about motherhood.

But I think I am starting to figure it out. As a mother, you write your own story. Sometimes the words flow out of you smoothly and gracefully, and you flip page after page with ease. The kids behave, the chores get done, you squeeze in a date night and learn to carve out alone time in your schedule. Other times the words are clunky and slow-going and you scribble on the page and call in an editor – in the form of a nanny, a housekeeper, a best friend, or a therapist. The kids don’t behave, the house is a mess, date night (when it happens) ends in a fight, and you can’t remember the last time you were alone.

Every mom’s story is different, but I’m sure they have some things in common. There are always unexpected plot twists, passages that feel stale and boring, vital supporting characters, and climactic moments where the overwhelming joy of motherhood redeems the rough patches in the text. There are monologues filled with both self-loathing, and self-discovery. There are dialogues filled with both conflict and reconciliation. There are words such as “pain” or “laughter” that can’t fully describe what it’s like to experience the heart-crushing grief that accompanies parenthood or the unparalleled feeling of shaking with happy, tear-filled eyes at a child’s innocent and hilarious antics.

Your story is completely different from mine with complex characters and distinct rising action. However, as mothers, we understand common themes that unite us to one another. Love, loss, grief, sacrifice, overcoming struggle, hope. These are the themes that yoke us together. Each story unfolds on its own, page by page, but they are bound together in a great and glorious volume called motherhood.