August 02, 2017
Posted By: Bunny Foo Foo
Written by Blair Fjeseth
It's the fourth time today that I've tiredly stood in front of the microwave, blankly staring as my coffee reheats itself back to life. My brain is mom mush these days. Yesterday, I put the lettuce in the bread box and ended up wearing two different shoes to work. How does that even happen? The old "cool" me would have pathetically laughed at what a loser I have become.
Sometimes I'll see a pregnant woman and unapologetically stare at her. There’s an easiness about her, the glow on her face, her permanent smile beaming as one hand cradles her engorged belly. Her naïveté is adorable and gives off an unsuspecting vibe that makes me want to take her gently into my arms and say, "Lady, you are in for a massive shit show. Get that smirk off your face and gear up for battle!" Alas, I just smile and nod as my cart passes hers in the grocery store. It won't be long until she realizes kids can detect weakness and exploit it with a single cry.
I know, I know. I'm a Debbie Downer, a Suzie Cynical. In all honesty, motherhood is the most beautiful thing on the planet. I adore my children so much that it makes me ooze this invincible love pheromone that makes my wrinkly skin glow, albeit the day (or two) old mascara still clings for dear life.
It's days like today that I think back to my pregnancy with my oldest son. It was my third pregnancy and I was terrified.
My husband Andy and I got pregnant in 2009. It was an oops pregnancy (major oops considering we attended a Catholic college.) We were both scared, but somehow, we knew it would be OK. We miscarried when we were 8-1/2 weeks along. It was a tough time for both of us, and yet, we managed to get through it and finals week at the same time.
In 2012, we got pregnant again. We were elated and though we were both leery of the still-fresh scars, we figured the first miscarriage was a fluke and that this time would be different.
Andy was away coaching football when it happened the second time. It was one of the darkest days of my life. I curled into a tiny ball and sobbed, alone on the bathroom floor while the thing I wanted most in this life painfully left my body.
In those dark moments, you make deals with yourself. It’s those moments when you guilt trip yourself with, "If only I had done this differently, this wouldn't be happening." It's those moments when you hate yourself the most for not being able to do this one thing our evolution expects us to do. It's those moments you recall and see as a defining moment in your strength and character.
Flash forward to today where my sweet little boys are swinging crazily from the rafters as I sip my now-alive coffee. Over the last 3-and-1/2 years, I've fallen apart more than I'd like to admit. I'm tired and I've broken more than I let on, but I've also learned a whole lot.
Each time I've fallen apart, light has been able to get through the cracks, making me a better, more loving, more patient, kinder, and a stronger wife and mother.
My husband, the amazing glue that keeps our family together, has time and time again tenderly picked me up off the floor and ever so gently put me back together. He has never judged me; he has reinforced my pillars and has rescued me, even from myself at times. When I give up on myself, he believes in me twice as hard.
I am a strong woman -- you must be when you are a mom -- but it comes with trials and tribulations. It doesn't appear automatically; it's hidden in self-doubt and self-deprecation. It just becomes harder to hide when you are too busy chasing toddlers.
So, to all the moms (and soon-to-be moms) out there, break just enough to let the light in. Let the glue do its job and continue to push forward in love and kindness. The rest will fall into place.
Blair Fjeseth is a working professional and proud Montana mom. Follow her on her blog Whydoourkidshateus.com or on Instagram @blair_mt