A year ago, we had our third baby. He has bleach-blonde hair, a surprise to all of us, since our kids have dark hair. He’s a ball of energy and the happiest kid you’ll meet.
Flashback to a year ago, he joined the circus that is our family. When I reflect on the past year as a mom of three, I see how much I’ve grown and changed as a mom.
A perfectionist at heart, I have an internal urge to clean. I see a mess and want to take care of it instantly. I tried so hard to keep a clean house with the first two. I did a decent job at it. Then my perfect, blonde-haired, chunky third was born. He struggled with GER (gastroesophageal reflux).
It’s a mild form of gastric reflux, very common for newborn babies. Most parents know this as having ‘a spitter’. He spat up often and was uncomfortable. I was used to having babies who spat up. My first two spat up a lot. However, it was noticeably worse with my 3rd. We went through at least 20 burp rags a day. I spent most of my time either nursing him, cleaning up spit-up off the floor, or laundering all the clothes covered in spit-up. After a feed, I’d see how much he spat up, and stare at it with concern. “Did he keep anything down?” I’d ask myself.
I discussed my concerns with the pediatrician. The pediatrician assured me he was doing fine and didn’t need any medical interventions. He would outgrow it in a few months, she reassured me. My husband and I would take turns walking him, often late into the night, as it was the only thing that would soothe him. Laying him down would worsen the reflux. Elevating one side of his crib meant that he’d roll down to the bottom and get stuck in the crib rails. Nothing we tried helped, so we walked him. Being fully present for my son in those early months forced me to slow down. The house quickly became a mess. I stayed up late into the night washing dishes. My husband stepped up the cleaning efforts, seeing I was overwhelmed. Somewhere along the way, I let go. It wasn’t a huge declaration. It was a silent surrender.
One day I woke up and saw dirty dishes in the sink. Last year, that would have sent my anxiety through the roof. That day, I kept walking and moved on. I’m still a clean person, but being a mom of 3 has changed me. I used to straighten up the playroom before I played with my kids. I couldn’t relax and enjoy my children if the room was messy. Now, I find myself sitting in the middle of the mess. I can ignore the huge pile of blankets and stuffies sitting in the middle of the family room, a product of my kids’ imaginary play. I find myself sitting down and asking my kids to show me what they’re playing, something I never would have imagined doing.
Things have gotten easier now. The reflux resolved. My older two are bigger now and able to help tidy up. Yet, I’m a different mom. I’ve grown and adapted. Growth as a mother is like a garden bed-you don’t see the plants growing. Then when you compare last week’s garden to this week’s garden, you see the tremendous growth that’s occurred.
There’s a peace that can only come when you accept that things won’t be perfect. I know my house won’t be perfect (it took me seven years to get there). My house will not be clean all the time. My toddler might stay in his pajamas until 11 on a busy day. Teacher gifts won’t be Pinterest-worthy, but they’ll still be given.
I’m busier than I’ve ever been, yet somehow, I find more time in the day to enjoy my family. I wish I could go back. I wish I could reclaim the time I had spent chasing perfection. As a perfectionist who is always looking for the next space to conquer, our third baby was a message sent from above that it was time to slow down.
