Motherhood, when questions remain

I came to my desk to write a post about being a mum. About my transition from "career woman" to "stay at home mum." About the work mothers do, the sacrifices we make, the guidance we give, and how it mostly goes unnoticed and unappreciated. I wanted to write that perhaps the pat on the back we need should come from us, that as mums we should give ourselves more credit, everyday, for the toughest of all jobs that we have undertaken in raising our little souls into confident, happy and kind people.

And yet here I sit, feeling miserable. It's as though two hands, one on top of the other, are pushing against my chest. I can feel my heartbeat in my stomach, a soft drumming that grows louder with every thought of my seven-year-old son.

He went to school unhappy this morning. Upset that his school uniform pants felt too big on him, even though I'd taken up the length to his request a day earlier. He doesn't really feel the cold so not wanting to wear long pants or jumpers is a common complaint from him. But a school uniform is a school uniform. That's not what has me doubting myself or my motherly instincts.

Zach and Grace, a beautiful big brother

It's the stage he's going through. The pushing the boundaries stage. The not listening and answering back stage. When he's not being my regular gorgeous boy, he's getting mad about something, or sitting in pensive silence. It doesn't take much at the moment for his anger to hit the floor at my feet, bouncing and landing on my shoulders as guilt.

My friends who are mums of 7-year-old boys all describe the same stage, in varying degrees, being played out in their homes. But Zach is my husband's and my son and our responsibility. His stage is our stage.

Zach is boisterous, energetic, unintentionally rough, and loud. He is a thoughtful and fun big brother. He loves sport and is a natural athlete. He thinks burping is funny, farting is funnier, and outright silly behaviour is the funniest thing of all. He laughs a lot. His round, brown eyes literally twinkle at the hint of a giggle; and he puts all of his crooked teeth on display with an open mouthed, high pitched roar of a laugh. It's infectious. And utterly heartwarming.

Zach and Lillia, their bond is strong

He is also sensitive and self conscious. We remind him often to think for himself and lead, which he does naturally on the footy field and basketball court, but far less in the classroom and playground. He gains confidence from his sporting abilities, and I'm sure too from the words of encouragement he hears at home. 'Proud' is a word used a lot in our house.

And yet, his self esteem seems so fragile at times. Like a branch bending under the weight of a climbing child, self doubt pulls at the edges of his smile and colours his cheeks and for a brief moment he is a baby learning to walk again, wanting to take a step but so cautious of the consequences of letting go of my hand. His doubt becomes embarrassment which in turn leads to anger, frustration, or silliness. It's his default mechanism and I don't think I give it enough credit.    

And perhaps this is why I am feeling so awful today.

With Mother's Day approaching, like any significant day of celebration, comes reflection. Am I doing enough of the right things, or too many of the wrong things? When I send him to sit on his bed to think about things, or when I confiscate something from him; when I lose my patience and raise my voice, should I be wrapping him up in my arms instead? When I hug him and tell him how much I love him and ask him to talk to me about what's going on inside of that little boy mind of his, should I be disciplining him instead?

I can see that he is trying to work out his role in our family, now that he is the oldest of three children. He wants to be the big brother but he also wants to be my baby. It's an inner conflict that he can't express through words, that he wouldn't consciously even understand. But I can. And as his mum I need to because it breaks my heart to watch his struggle.

Getting ready for footy training

My mum has a saying spoken by her own mum: This too shall pass. And I know it will. When he was a 6-month-old baby recovering from major kidney and bladder surgery, waking 8 to 10 times a night wanting just to be comforted, I thought those months of hell would never end, but they did. When we welcomed baby Lillia to the family with her allergies and reflux and Zach was in the midst of the terrible twos, I thought I'd never leave the house again, but I did. When he started Grade 1 and the jump from Prep seemed too big to handle, I thought I'd never get him to school again, but I did.

This stage, that's making me question myself again, will also pass. When I'm feeling overwhelmed, or guilty, or lost, I need to remember that. Perhaps we all do. 

Maybe, when we receive our presents from the school Mother's Day stall on Sunday morning, we should give ourselves the present of acceptance. We are doing our best, being the best mums that we can be, and as I tell my children: it's not someone else's best I ask for, only yours. 

You know, maybe our best is pretty good. Perhaps if we realise that we wouldn't worry so much. And perhaps if we give ourselves some more credit for the job that we are doing, these stages would pass faster. Our children are a gift. Motherhood is a gift. So lets receive it, unwrap it, and cherish it like any present; without judgement, without trial, without guilt. Lets just say thank you.     

Happy Mother's Day mamas. Keep doing your best and be kind to yourself everyday.

Christi xo