I’m fine.
Like perfectly fine.
I have consulted with medical professionals. I don’t have postpartum depression. The hormones have settled. I smile most of the time. I get a decent amount of sleep at night (if you consider six or more consecutive hours decent, which I do).
Although my kids still cry and whine hourly, I now only cry once or twice a month.
We get out of the house daily. I exercise at least three times a week. I am back at work and loving my job, as usual.
Yet, my day-to-day life feels hard. The cooking, feeding, and cleaning feel endless. Whatever structure I had created for rest and alone time with one or two kids is now demolished. The tasks of everyday life feel all-consuming, and they drain every last drop of my patience, strength, and energy.
For a while I was asking myself, “Why does this feel so hard?” but I think I’ve figured out the answer.
I’ve never done this before.
I’ve never been a working mom with three kids.
I’ve never cleaned a house with three kids in it.
I’ve never done laundry for three kids or fed three kids or gotten three kids dressed every day.
I’ve never disciplined a three year-old while trying to teach a two year-old her ABCs while ensuring the four month-old gets adequate tummy time.
It’s a new level of complexity I have not yet mastered.
I have never done anything like this.
And when I think of it like that, I’m actually kind of proud of myself. Because I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m doing it anyway. It’s really hard, but it’s getting easier day by day. I wake up each morning and pursue the day with all the joy and strength I can muster. I know I will be spent by nightfall, but I rely heavily on those new-morning-mercies.
Three kids under four years of age. It often feels like a burden on my back, but instead I choose to wear it as a badge of honor.
