Self Inflicted Misery

   As a young mom of very young kids, I am frustrated...often. I get so tired of repeating the same commands all day every day. I get so sick of disciplining for the same issues I dealt with yesterday. I often think, 'We've been through this already! Why can't you get it? It's not that difficult!'
   Then I think of what a bonehead I am. I mean, come on! My oldest girl is barely 3 and my middle girl is just shy of 20 months. Seriously, is it even valid to get frustrated because I have to repeat myself? I'm going to say no to that.
   Is it not I who set my own expectations? Am I not the one who decides that she should 'know that by now'? I am the one who chooses to ignore everything she has accomplished and to focus on the one thing she is failing to comprehend at the moment.  I am the one who chooses to forget that learning and growth come slowly! All too often, I tell my 3 year old to do something and get aggravated when she just looks at me. Sometimes, I get aggravated despite the fact that I can tell she has no idea how to accomplish said task. I know she is not being defiant or disobedient and yet, I fuss at her anyway. I think, 'Well, why can't you figure it out?!'. How often do I make her feel stupid and worthless for something that is not her fault? How often am I guilty of simply being too lazy to get up and teach her how to do what I asked?
   I am very well aware of the commands my daughters understand. I know what each one is capable of and I believe I have every right to require they perform some tasks on their own. However, what right have I to fuss at my children for failing to meet every demand I make based not on what they know but on what is convenient for me at the moment?
   A unmet request is something that should be greeted with love and compassion. Something that should be met with understanding, grace and patience. My girls are not stupid but I can easily make them feel like they are. If I treat them like they're dumb, eventually they will believe it and act on it.
   Sometimes, my girls are completely ignorant of how to accomplish what I ask. It is my responsibility to get off my rear end and show them. It is my task to teach them their worth and value is not based on their ability to perform. They are quick, willing learners and desire my approval. It is my job to give it. I should acknowledge their effort, even if it is wrong, then show them the proper way to respond.
 
   I am a young mother. I am frustrated often. I get tired of repeating the same commands all day every day.

   I am a young mother who must remember that I am training my children. I am a frustrated mother who must remember that training takes time and repetition. I am a tired mother who must remember that training often means repeating the same commands all day every day.

Scars of Motherhood

   I'm 23 years old. I've had 3 babies in 3 years. My perky breasts now hang and sag. My strong muscles are limp and my skin is loose and flabby. My once flawless stomach now has a roadmap of bright red and purple stretch marks across it.
   I hate my body. I hate the marks that keep me from feeling attractive. I hate the floppy skin that keeps me from wearing the clothing I like. I hate the way my saggy boobs look in lingerie. I hate the way my limp stomach gives me a muffin top in my favorite jeans.
   I don't feel beautiful. Wait, forget beautiful. I don't even feel slightly cute. I avoid eye contact with the huge, laughing mirror after a shower. I rush to find baggy clothes that I can hide in.
   Will I ever like my body again? Nope. Am I ever going to be comfortable while naked again? Yeah right. Would I trade my stretch marks for a flawless belly like I had? Absolutely. Is it a huge struggle to accept what I look like after 3 babies? Obviously. Is it a mountain I have conquered? No. Is it a conflict and sacrifice that I willingly accept? Yes.
 
   I accept my body for what it looks like now because there are 3 tiny bodies that I carried for 9 months. It is true, I could have my perfect body back, but would I take it over those 3 tiny smiles? No freakin' way. I did 'sacrifice' my body when I got pregnant. But was it a real sacrifice? Is it not something that I can get over? Is it not something that is worth the change? I can buy new clothes. I can work out. I can realize and remember that I am important, no matter what my body looks like. Heck, I can buy a push up bra and save money for a tummy tuck if I want to. My stretch marks do not define who I am or what I'm worth. They do not take my beauty away. They don't make me undesirable. They make me a mother. They make my dreams come true. My dreams of 3 brilliant smiles and happy little girl giggles.

   It is because of one of these happy smiles that I am able to write such words. It is a scene that I will vividly remember for the rest of my days.

   On August 14, 2013, I was 2 days past due with my 3rd baby. I had just finished my shower and was doing my usual hurried routine of applying lotion to my very sore belly. I remember thinking that I just wanted to get it over with and get my shirt back on. I was so nervous that somebody would walk in and see my ugly belly or notice my flabby thighs.
   Suddenly, the door shut. I felt that familiar panic wash over me because there was nowhere to hide. I was slightly relieved when it was my 3 year old who came into the bathroom. She walked over to my side and stood quietly for a moment. Then, she reached up and gently stroked the large, painful stretch marks on my side. Her innocent words made me choke up.
 
   "They're so pretty, Momma."
 
   My instant thought was, "No, they aren't, but you are."