The Evolution of Tiredness – A Mother's Perspective
When my babies were proper tiny babies, my days and nights were consumed by their development leaps, playgroups and those long dinner, bath, and bed rituals that bound us to the house in hope that if everything was done just the right way and the stars aligned we might all get some sleep. None of my babes were wonderful sleepers. Coffee was a lifeline to carry me through the days but even at that time, I heeded other mothers' warnings that the nights would end and I would miss them when they did (even though my eyes constantly begged for me to shut them, if only for a minute.) The mums with older children than mine talked about reading whole books and having dinners out at restaurants and they seemed to leave the house with some regularity. These mums didn’t have baby spew on their shoulders, they juggled actual people’s lives with sports and projects and whiteboards and some of these mums even wore white!
But what I did not know is that while these mothers with older kids were obviously sleeping again and so would I, I would be exhausted in a whole new way. There would come a time when at night, instead of being woken by a cry, I would lie awake second-guessing and angst-ing over decisions and problems that could no longer be solved with magic cream and dinosaur Band-Aids, because now my babies’ worries and needs and questions are arising from their lives outside of our little bubble at home. And they are complex and hard and the playing field isn't always fair and people aren't always nice.
Suddenly I don't always have the answer or solution to the problem anymore. While now they sleep predictably, I can’t rock away the pain of a bully or pull silly faces to distract from the fact that the maths is incomprehensible (seriously when will Algebra die!) and the tickle hand no longer cuts it with a perceived injustice because the injustice now needs a more thoughtful and considered response. And it is much scarier because every moment is a teaching moment in a way that is so different from showing them the world that used to revolve around them entirely.
It is a strange and bittersweet transition. There are more rules for me to follow like no kisses goodbye at school if anyone is around, no handholding in public, no lame jokes to friends, and no more adventure stories for bedtime, but on the flip side, there are first love discussions, secret missions to collect flowers together for girl crushes, displays of independence, personality and maturity that shock me to the core because when did they become so funny, smart and grown up? And there are more and more long conversations about the hard stuff. Our relationships are evolving and I am needed in increasingly different ways and while I am here for it, my goodness I feel like I am parenting the hell out of most days. Sometimes I would give anything to go back to those tired days when the baby would only sleep on me and silly faces made all the tears disappear.
Increasingly my kids need me in a way that is less physical and more heart and soul. They are drinking in what I am doing and saying with increasing veracity than their younger selves and I see it and know I need to rise to the occasion because I know from the mums with the bigger kids that now is the time to mould these young humans of mine with the best I can give. After all, before I know it they will be adults and I'll be sleeping soundly….unless, of course, the problems get more complicated then….which won’t happen, right? Adult children's problems are surely a breeze… ;-)
