Behind Closed Doors

Life has been a lot more balanced lately, I think to myself as I sit with my baby who is eating lunch. Sitting with him while he eats his lunch is a true test of my patience some days. He takes forever to eat even just a little and you can forget using a spoon to fed this boy. Mr. Independent likes to feed himself. Which means half of my effort in making him a nutritious lunch and carefully cutting it into baby bite size pieces, ends up on the floor! God love him! He is cute and he has that in his corner! It has been over a week since my last major meltdown which in my life is excellent. I ponder if it is coincidence that I feel more stable, my baby is starting to sleep better and I have more energy after starting to detox the sugars out of my body? I am beginning to think it is not coincidence at all. This makes me smile! Some of the poison that leached into my thoughts, making them toxic, and causing my poor babe to have sleep problems, was in the food all along. Who knew?

I look over at Mr. Independent who spits out the skin of a carefully slivered grape and smiles at me! It is nice to see his smile without the set of luggage that usually occupies the space under his eyes! The same goes for me. I say good riddance. You have worn out your welcome! As I sip another delectable taste of peppermint tea (I am, by the way, becoming a tea granny all too easily) and wonder how our mothers managed through the sleep deprivation. Our grandmothers and their mothers with families of more than two children and quite often all born very close together. For example, my Grandmother is ninety-seven years old. She is one of seven children who lived through the depression. How did her mother survive through the sleep deprivation? Did they just accept that life was difficult and forge on without incident? Did more happen behind closed doors than what was ever acceptable to speak in public? I say yes, but that was a time when a community of woman supported them and helped raise their families.

Evan seems to be done mashing food into his sweet little mouth. Sometimes I wonder if anything actually gets into his stomach when I look at the mess he leaves behind. There are pieces of grilled cheese everywhere. I don't do an exact count, but it looks to be about the same amount I had put out to begin with. This would normally eat away at me and trigger a meltdown. I don't consider myself an anxious mother and certainly less so the second time around, but a different child a different set of challenges. He is now on the floor beneath his chair picking up his scraps and pushing the high chair around. Clearly, my floor is clean enough to eat off to him and the thought is laughable!

As I clean up the aftermath of Evan's lunch, my thoughts drift back to my struggles and realize that I feel like less of a fraud now. About four months ago, our photographer came to take our family portraits. It was during probably one of my rougher patches and Evan had a particularly poor night. I was coiffed, make up done and out of my usual track pants and t-shirt. I looked pretty good, on the outside. I felt like a fraud. These pictures would capture our family with smiles of joy, but underneath the surface there was such turmoil. Then, I wonder if there are more moms out there have felt like frauds too. I know the answer is yes, but it makes me press deeper and ask why do we feel the need to cover it up? Why keep it behind closed doors? If there are other moms out there who are feeling the way I was/am, should we not be supporting each other in our struggles and create the community that our fore mothers drew upon?

There is a side to being a mom that is never talked about because we are afraid. Afraid to be judged, afraid the authorities will take our children away from us, but it is that side of motherhood that makes us human. The problem is, before we have children, we have no idea that this dark side exists because we are led to believe that motherhood is wonderful, the epitome of existence. The idea of this beautiful, shiny new baby blinds us. When we are pregnant no one ever tells us to read the fine print. The fine print should read, "side effects may include: you questioning who you have become and if you will feel this way forever, endless nights of nursing and sleep deprivation so severe it may cause you to daily sob uncontrollably, engaging in screaming demonic-like tones, throwing household items and in worst case scenarios shaking your baby." So when these feelings begin to invade our thoughts and we put on a smile, we continue to deceive ourselves. We are being frauds, living behind closed doors. These are the stories that need to be told so that we as mothers can begin to heal and quit feeling like failures. Surround yourself with a group of women that understand your struggle and don't be afraid to share your stories.