Sometimes I get caught up in thinking I should be able to get everything done; I shouldn't be interrupted; I should be able to leave the house without making special arrangements; I should be able to get up at 6 a.m. when my husband does; the house should stay clean; I should be able to walk enough that I can eat whatever I want; I should be able to exercise, too; I should be able to ponder and meditate and be all spiritual. Sure, these are things that once were, but I need to get used to the new normal -- that I'm going to be really tired a lot of the time; that I won't get much accomplished; that meals just won't be as nice as they once were; that I can't really leave the house; that maybe these last 5-10 pounds just won't go away; that I'm really going to have to fight for my spirituality, etc.
I'm not so sure I want to accept the new normal, but it's reality.
Sometimes I feel like I'm in a nightmare: I'm on the ground in a hurricane (the hurricane of crying babies, sleepless nights, messy house, body aches, and interruptions), and there is a helicopter above me that has let down a rope to rescue me. Sometimes I get a handle on the rope, sometimes I can only smack it, and other times it's just out of reach. When I try and grab the rope to get away, it gets yanked away from me because the helicopter is blown in the gusts or the mud slips from under me and I fall. Sometimes I feel like it's my kids in the helicopter trying to rescue me, but at the same time they're laughing at me conspiring to wake up at different times throughout the night. It's odd that the kids are there to rescue me, yet they're the ones causing my troubles.
I think that's where the adjustment needs to come in. I don't think the kids are really the problem; it's my expectation of normal. The kids really are wonderful, and I forget that I'm here to teach them, and all those things I WANT are just going to have to fit in later or some other way.
I've been doing some research on an ancestor lately (center, front). She was born in 1839. She married into polygamy in her teens (her older sister was the first wife). After the older sister had her 5th baby, she died leaving all the kids with my ancestor. My ancestor then had 3 of her own kids (the boy and girl on the left in the picture), but then her oldest died as well as one of her sister's girls. Soon after that, her husband died in his mid-30s. My ancestor was only about 25! She was a widow with 6 kids! Do you think life was hard? I can't even imagine. I shouldn't even be complaining about my life. Heck. I didn't even have my first kid until I was 27!
What I've learned, though, was that even though her life was REALLY, REALLY hard for a time, it did get better. She didn't have helicopter-hurricane nightmares, she actually faced hunger, isolation, and loss somewhat regularly. However, the kids grew up, she learned, she served, she traveled, and she wasn't so financially pressed. When she died in her late 80's, life was pretty good, I'd guess.
<pep talk> So, I've got to keep my eye on the bigger picture. I need to adjust to the new normal -- the normal that is always changing with each paragraph in my chapter of raising young children. Life will change; it won't go back to what it once was, but it can become normal.</pep talk>
