Being a mother is challenging. I like that word better than 'difficult' or 'hard' because, although those may be accurate adjectives describing motherhood or just parenting in general, they aren't all-encompassing enough for my liking. When something is hard, I dread it...I put it off - I often tell myself that it isn't worth it. When I think of motherhood, I think of challenges and, dare I even say, trials. But I know - with every fiber of my being - that they are worth it. I am sure that anyone who reads our blog, who is also a mother, would agree with me. Since the day Reagan was born, I have been in constant awe that one of the most challenging things in my life is also the one sure thing that can bring me more pure joy and satisfaction than I ever thought possible. Motherhood - it is beautiful. And baby, it is challenging.
I don't think that I've ever felt more sick than I did when I was pregnant. Right up until about the half way point, I literally had to plead with myself to wake up every day. Even if it was just getting up to go to the bathroom, or eating a cracker, the smallest things became huge challenges for me. I would call my mom almost every day and just tell her over and over again, "I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this." Or something to that effect. She would always reply, "Emily, endure. Endure. Endure." And I did.
I was told over and over again in the second half of my pregnancy that something was wrong with my placenta. Some doctors told me that it was extremely serious, others just shrugged their shoulders and said that they just weren't sure. Would Reagan be born too early? (Luckily THAT one wasn't a problem.) Would she be okay? Would she have enough nourishment? Would there be long-lasting developmental challenges that she would have to face because of something faulty in MY body? My worries and guilt were endless, but so were my prayers. I felt fine physically, but became obsessed over what was going on, and how I could fix it. Above all, I learned that I really couldn't do
anything - what was going to happen was going to happen and I just had to learn to accept it. Heavenly Father knew what I needed and what was going to happen, and I learned to trust that. Somehow, I knew in the back of my mind, that she was going to be okay. She was a healthy, thriving little bugger, this one, and no matter how endless my worries were, she'd lay a good punch or kick in the ribs or groin, and I would calm down - her sweet little way (she had no idea how sweet) of telling me that she was going to be fine. And so was I. "Endure, little one," I would say. And she did so - amazingly.
Labor. How can one of the most beautiful, most natural things in the world, also be one of the most excruciatingly painful? I have incredible respect for women who opt to do it all completely naturally. This time, natural amazon-woman birth just wasn't in the cards for me - but even the part where I received an epidural and it started out by only working on one side of my body - well, there just aren't words to describe the pain! Fellow labor-ers, I know you know what I am talking about. And at some points, I was certain that my lower abdomen was going to explode. Adding Pitocin to the mix certainly didn't help. Jason and my sweet mom were in the room during labor and when Reagan was born. Among other words of comfort and encouragement, I once again heard, "Endure. Endure. Endure." Whether these words were from Jason or my mom or from heaven, I am still not sure. But, once again, I endured. And she was born.
When we left the hospital, I was on some kind of "mothering high" that left me over-confident about everything "baby." (Drugs may or may not have helped.) As soon as we drove away from the hospital, however, that wonderful little high quickly faded and became full-on fear. Who was this little one in the back seat? Is she really mine? Ours? Is she okay with that? What will she need? How will I know how to hold her? When will my milk come in? How will I know if she is eating enough? And heaven forbid, WHAT IF SHE CRIES? What started out as new-mother confidence became fear and more worries. I loved her more than life itself, but I have never been more afraid of one human being...one TINY human being... in my entire life. Jason gave me a priesthood blessing during my last month of pregnancy that this new little one coming into our lives would have a special way of letting me know that she loved me, and boy did she ever. Whether it was in her little smirks, or "knowing" gaze, I felt her love for me. And heck, I even felt it in her spit up and stinky diapers. But, that's just the mother in me. =) After many sleepless nights and diaper changes, we became used to one another, me and her, and began to form an eternal bond that I am confident cannot be broken. I endured. She endured. We did it together.
Just the other day, I was over at my parents' house when the kids got home from school. Within an instant, a peaceful house became a whirlwind of after-school snacks, homework, piano practicing, and planning for the next day. "How was your day at school"s were asked, and answered, worries were shared, and tears were shed. I believe I have posted about this before in our blog, but kids are becoming awfully mean these days. Maybe it is because they are so honest, or that their "filters" aren't quite up and running yet, but they really can say and do the most hurtful things. And these aren't the things that I dealt with back in school. Not at all. The trials that children now have to face are much more "in your face" and emotionally-challenging than those that I went through. While all of this was going on, I had to sit back and ask myself, "Emily, can you do this?" Can I comfort Reagan when she comes home from school crying because "so-and-so said this and did that"? Will I say the right things? Will I be able to create a home that is a comforting sanctuary from the harsh world that will surround my children everywhere else they go? Will I do this all with perfect mothering instincts and grace? Will I be able to hide the heartbreak and tears that fill my own eyes when I see my children suffering? Probably not always. But will I endure? Yes. I will.
Lately (and when I say lately I mean in the past year or so), I have been dealing with a personal challenge of my own, having to do with finishing school and/or having a baby. As you can imagine, the 'having a baby' part becomes not so much of a choice when you are pregnant! It's a wonderful responsibility. But, my education has always been extremely important to me as well, and I am in a constant struggle of figuring out when to finish school, and how to do so with a beautiful little Reagan attached to my ever-increasing hips. Although the answers to this challenge may seem simple to some, for whatever reason, they are not and never have been for me. My whole life, I have thrived off of good grades and praise from teachers and professors, writing a really good paper, impressing others with my educational pursuits, etc. Lately, school has obviously been on the backburner, and while this really bothered me and made me feel guilty at first, I have recently been filled with a new sense of accomplishment and perspective - and I don't mean that to sound trite. I still love and sometimes miss the "student" side of me. And she is not gone - no, she'll be back again soon. But, I am realizing that it is
okay that right now I am being a mommy. It is also okay that I may not have the support of the world when I decide to fulfill my new role as my top priority. It is okay that grades and professors and writing a really good paper don't matter as much to me. They probably won't ever matter as much to me ever again, and I am more than okay with that. I will finish school. I'll probably do it soon. But I no longer feel
guilty about putting something before that. When I finally have my cap and gown on and am walking down the aisle to receive my diploma, the only two people that matter most to me in this world will be in that audience, cheering me on. And I will know it then no better than I know it now that my most important role is that of a mother. Things may be challenging right now, and there will probably be a healthy share of trials in the future, but I know that somehow, miraculously, I will endure. Endure. Endure. Endure.
