Thursday, May 16, 2013

Growing Up

I was sorting through a bin of random stuff when I came upon a collection of notes I'd written to Roo years ago. Little love notes, silly quotes, a handwritten 'Hobbit' book I'd illustrated with funny pictures and text, stapled together, and given as a gift. Most of these things I didn't remember making, I didn't remember writing or thinking up. So as I rediscovered them, I smiled at my own wit, my own cute efforts to show my love to Roo, to impress him.

Then I started feeling something like sadness, I guess it was. Because it seems like the person who wrote those silly notes no longer exists. The person holding those notes today is serious, not silly; too detached and tired for wit; too heavy with the ever-present fatigue and business of motherhood to be clever; too preoccupied to remember funny quotes and phrases. I felt like mourning for the loss of who I had been.

I thought, is this what it means to grow up?

Motherhood is all-consuming. It consumes my time, my thoughts, my personality, my affection; it establishes my priorities, it determines my schedule, it has reshaped my very physical form; it defines me now. Having two babies has made it definitively so, and I am just now actually realizing that.

I know this is a blessing, but it is a hard blessing, too, sometimes.

Yesterday when Esmé refused her nap yet again after repeated attempts, it was utter desperation.

And then there are these moments: every morning Esmé reminds me to say my prayer. She waits until I've closed my eyes and am thinking my hopes and worries to God, then she silently kisses my upper arm. I can't help smiling and reaching out for her hand.

And today Penny took her first shaky, independent steps.

I suppose what I may have lost--whatever silliness or innocence or youthful naivety--has been eternally outdone by what I've gained. I am a mother now.

And when I was feeling pressured by my yet-unfulfilled potential in avenues other than motherhood--meaning, when I felt guilty for not developing other talents or 'life callings' I feel I have--I talked to Roo about it. He said, "Ease up on yourself. You're exhausted. That's okay. Get to them when you can. "

And he helps me realize, this is who I am. This is my calling now. The other callings--though they are very important and do have a place in my life--need to wait their turn.

I guess that is the essence of sacrifice; and in that case, I guess the answer is, yes, this is what it means to grow up.






10 comments:

The Marcons said...

Thanks for sharing this Annie. I teared up a bit. It's strange how our whole life we long for this moment. To be married, to be a mommy. And now that we're in it, some days I long to go back or move forward more quickly. I imagine life will always be so. Esme reminds me so much of the little girl I used to run through the fields with and make picnics of saltine crackers. I miss those days. I miss you.

Grannie G said...

Beautiful! Annie I have found that the present is always a sacrifice of some sort. Usually it is of our time or energy or desires. But I have found looking forward there is always hope and looking back brings contentment with things as they are.
I also agree with Tasha. I am sure you have passed on your beauty, wit and talents. Love and blessings to you all ;~))

Amy said...

This is beautiful. I feel the same way sometimes. I didn't know you when you before you were married, but I would still describe you as witty, creative, and fun. Maybe you have just moved the focus of those attributes to motherhood and use them in different ways now. I think you should be so proud of the person you are right now. Those motherhood moments are so sweet. I think it is vital to continue take note of them and remember them.

Deja said...

This made me cry. Because, yes. I think about my previous self a lot lately. I either want to hold her and pat her head and tell her it's okay because this is coming and it's good. Or I want to step back into my old life and strut around in there for an afternoon. It's probably just as we'll that those aren't options.

For the record, from the outside you are still all of those things you long for, but deeper and more serious in all the best ways. I mean, we're not hanging out every day so what do I know? But I can see all of that in you from here. I'm sure it's only more obvious up close. And more beautiful.

Lynn said...

The essence of who you are will always be with you, Annie! You still are all the things you think you have lost. Roo is right when he tells you to realize there will be other times in your life to do other things. And trust me when I tell you they will come sooner than you can imagine! And when they do, you will wish you could go back to the time when little Esmé would remind you to pray and kiss your arm and Penny had piggies in her hair! Now these daughters are your gifts that need your best time, almost all your energy, your gentle,compassionate,love so they will begin to develop their potential. While your blessings will more than make up for the sacrifices, motherhood is not a job for sissies.

Emily said...

Your thoughts are great. And those pictures of Esme are even greater. What a doll!

AM said...

This is beautiful -- thanks for writing it.

Unknown said...

I cried when I read this, too. I'm not sure why. I guess because it is true. The loss of who we were. I'll bet, in 10 years, we look back on this time and cry for the loss of our early mothering years. I'll bet we cry because we were beautiful and didn't know it. Our children were perfect and we didn't appreciate it. Our life was so busy and important and we couldn't embrace it because we were too tired. I wonder what 10 years will do.

Lizzie Jones said...

Beautiful.

Lizzie Jones said...

Beautiful.