Mother of the Year...or Year of the Mother...or Motherf*&%#er That Was a Year

Our little girl's first birthday is tomorrow.  It seems like as good a time as any to reflect on what has turned into the most challenging year of my life.
"Really?" I hear you saying.
Harder than when your mom had breast cancer? Yep.
Harder than when your parents got a divorce? Yep.

Ask anyone with more than one child. They will back me up.I hear all the time about how much harder it is to transition from one child to two (as opposed to becoming a mom for the first time.) No one told me that when I was pregnant with her, but that's part of the conspiracy. Only occasionally does the Truth come out, usually from complete strangers.  One couple in Boston on New Years Eve struck up conversation with us while waiting for the train. They were out celebrating their anniversary. She said one thing: "Going from two to three is even harder. Don't do it!" Then they both laughed. Bitterly.

Better get a back up birth control method, stat.

So, why was this year so challenging? A fair question, and difficult to answer. I think it is a confluence of a number of factors:

1. Three is the New Two
     You hear it all the time: Terrible Two's. Guess what? It's utter bullshit. My son was a sweet charming person when he was two. He cried when he got physically hurt, but he did not throw tantrums. He shared toys willingly with his friends. He would sit for an hour and look at his books. Then he turned three and all hell broke loose. He wants everything his way, and NOW. He's surly. He screams for no apparent reason. He hits people and throws things. I've considered looking into an exorcist.
But, the truth is he is becoming more fully himself. He has more of an emotional vocabulary, and has discovered that he feels sadness and rage about what he can't do yet on a pretty regular basis. Not that this fact makes it easier to deal with high pitched screaming in the moment. And that leads me to...

2. Girls are Different than Boys
     There was a time I would have been loathe to admit this. And maybe it's just that my girl is different from my boy. Whatever the case, my daughter is a much more, let's say, expressive person than her brother was at this age. The screaming. Dear God, the screaming.  It's been this way from the day she was born, or else I would think somehow she felt she had to scream to be heard over her screaming brother. Screaming, screaming, screaming. She is also less willing to wait for what she wants. And with two children needing my attention, someone always has to wait. Hence, more screaming.
I'm glad she feels free to express herself, I really am. I want my daughter to know she can be loud and demanding if that's her personality. I don't want her to be the nice quiet girl I was, seething with opinions and rage on the inside.Which, in turn leads to....

3. Me. Mine! Mine! My Life!
I've been a full-time Stay-At-Home-Mom for almost two years now, and I'm going just a wee bit crazy.The thing about a challenging year is, you figure out where your limits are. A short list of what I've discovered:
I'm a happier person if I get to take a shower every day.
Happier still if I get out by myself to have a beer with a friend, go see a movie, or do a little shopping.
Sometimes, I don't want anyone touching me.
I am still in love with my partner, and more importantly I really like him. I want to talk to him without interruptions, go out to dinner with him, sleep with only him in our bed. 
I need things that are just mine. A play to direct. A blog to write. A class to take. Friends.

The long and the short of it is, all of us have more fully become ourselves this year. And discovering yourself is always more challenging than going with the (stagnant) flow. And, of course, I wouldn't take a minute of the last year back. I have a beautiful, funny, happy daughter and a new relationship with her. I have a family in a way I never did before. And I have a whole new acceptance for the Mother I Am.




Maybe I don't get a Perfect Mother Award with a sparkly tiara. I yell and cry too much for that, I think, and my house is pretty much always a mess.
But I can buy my own damn tiara, and wear it every day if I want.
I'm Shamelessly Imperfect.
And I'm back.