Sister, Please Pray for My Sanity, Not a Third
Last winter, my husband returned home from an evening at the college’s Catholic center. The center was hosting Religious Sisters from the Midwest to New England for a retreat with students. He joked about what one of the visiting Sisters said to him after finding out we recently welcomed our second child, a baby girl, into the world.
“I’ll be praying for a third.”
He smiled. I snarled. I had been inside with a toddler and newborn all day and the lack of sleep, vitamin D, and limited adult conversation was getting to me. I couldn’t even remember if I put on deodorant that day. My bladder was contracting from holding in fluids. Forget about simple pleasures such as bathroom breaks.
I’m locked up in a den of poopy diapers and laundry piles – not sure anymore which is clean or dirty. I rely on the trusted sniff test. Daily, I navigate the landmine of Legos and miniature cars and trucks just to get into the kitchen. Farm animals taunt me with their mechanical squeals and neighs. My daughter wants to be held most of the day and wails when she isn’t. It has been suggested to me to put her down and let her cry, but, her sobs make me sweat and feel queasy. I am one shriek away from turning into the Incredible Hulk.
My son is in perpetual motion. He is a curious little guy whose communication with the world around him is to touch and eat every single little itty bitty thing in his path. Unfortunately, on this night, there is no food on the table, only crumbs on the floor. My day is keeping my children alive and nothing more.
No wonder the oasis of the Catholic center with baked goods, young students, and budding conversation was more of a lure for my husband this winter night than the musky aroma of a haggard spouse whose latest fashion purchase was a nursing bra. My guess is that the Sister’s prayer for an expanding brood was well intentioned. However, I’m drowning with just two. It is not about the numbers. It is about the input.
Praying for a third? Instead, please pray for a healthy marriage and spousal support.
Just as Forrest Gump says “Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you are going to get”. The same can be said about marriage and family life. It is an adventure.
We settled into our first home in a college dorm apartment. We lived on a male floor in the middle of an L shaped hallway. There was no choice but to scurry down the hallway averting my eyes from the urinals and holding my breath to avoid the stench of used hockey equipment. Perhaps the experience was good preparation for our honeymoon pregnancy-our baby boy to join our family nine months after the vows. It was days after sharing the exciting news of our expectant little bundle that we both received disappointing news about our jobs, which forced us to reevaluate where we would go next. My husband works in Residential Life, so, less than one month after our first child was born, we needed to pack up our car with most of our belongings and stay with in-laws until we moved out of state to our new location for my husband’s new job.
Those sacramental vows were put into action as we learned to cope with living in the debris of the transition explosion we experienced all before our first wedding anniversary. We were learning to be spouses and parents, to trust each other, live with each other, create healthy boundaries with our families of origin (no easy feat), and to love each other without any expectation in return. As a result, there were many frosty nights and silent days.
I suspect that the Catholic Church supports the notion of “first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in the baby carriage.” Retreats like Marriage Encounter are not realistic for new families without support or finances as it requires travel, money, and babysitting. For the propagation of the race, I’d like to know how couples who respect and love the Church’s teachings live out their vocation as spouses and parents. Divorce and contraception can be quite tempting when times are tough.
Praying for a third? Instead, please pray for the health of the mother in body, mind, and spirit.
After my second born entered the world, I turned into a zombie. Bouts of rage crept up on me. I was unrecognizable to myself and my spouse. After encouragement from my husband, I sought counseling sessions. I felt like a failure. People have it so much worse. How could I not handle motherhood? Did having a child reveal a dark underlying condition that reared its ugly head because of lack of sleep? The beautiful notion of giving myself fully to my children was romantic until I had them.
A first time mother is also a newborn. Every cell in my body changed with pregnancy and childbirth. All the hormones that made my cheeks glow with a growing baby in my womb were flushed out during labor. I was left feeling sore, leaky, exhausted, and out of shape. Daily, I shed massive amounts of hair. I feared I’d have nothing left after a well needed shower in between lunch and the end of afternoon nap.
When a girl is feeling low about herself, it doesn’t help to be surrounded by young, skinny, fashionable, and intelligent college girls. If that isn’t enough, I’m surrounded by supermoms. The new expectation it seems is that mothers can do it all. So, it is not unusual to rub shoulders with women who earn doctorates and medical degrees while raising three children, teaching them sign and Mandarin as alternative languages, who cloth diaper their children and make all their baby food from scratch. Compared to the 70% of women who have returned to employment outside of the home, we have chosen the path less traveled by today’s standards. We women need to feel supported in our choice to stay at home or return to work. Both decisions require sacrifice. I stay home with our kids not because we are independently wealthy. We chose it because we believe it is the best option for our children.
The misconceptions that I perceive toward a stay at home mother are that she is uneducated, lazy, and likes smut television. Motherhood is the toughest job I have ever had. It burns me when I’m asked “if” I work or told I don’t work. Even family members (ahem...in-laws) have communicated to me that I need to do something more “lucrative” with my life as if raising children is on par with shooting up heroin.
Oh, how I salivate about the good old days of time and money for myself - a working professional respected for what she does, who could enjoy dinners, haircuts, clothes, and pedicures. All my remaining energy goes into fantasizing about five minutes to myself. I’ve tried to change my priorities and trust in God - no easy task this is! I haven’t heard a homily in over two years; my prayer life is barren, and trying to get through Sunday Mass turns out to be an occasion of sin and resentment towards my wriggly toddler and grouchy infant. Even if I can’t partake of the whole Mass because of a tantrum or diaper explosion, the Eucharist is the fraying shoe lace keeping me connected to God.
Praying for a third? Instead, please pray for support and resources.
We have been fortunate to have found a community of friends who are most able to understand this difficult stage in the life of young marriage and parenthood. I’ve been lucky to have made lifelong connections just because I am someone’s Mom. We live in an area with a prestigious higher education institution and a renowned hospital and medical school. Many working families are drawn in from all over the world to these employers. We live among an abundance of resources for women and children. From what I’ve seen, this transition requires many moms and dads to work and grandparents to uproot and move to help their offspring with their own offspring. The playgrounds, library story times, and local toddler watering holes reflect just that.
Social media provides its own flavor of support for parents. Sometimes it’s good and most times it’s not too tasty. For example, when did poop in the bathtub become photogenic? During the flu season, I am inundated with status updates about projectile vomit. Do I really care if moms have their pre-pregnancy bodies back after hiking the White Mountain Presidential Traverse two weeks after delivery? How many pictures of Disney can I see? Let me count the times. How about all the academic strides our toddlers make? Let’s post one million videos to show our friends who could really care less. Kudos to all those crafty moms who “pin” like crazy suggesting recipes and tips on how to jar their home grown vegetables and fruits. I’m exhausted from realizing that I’m a mediocre parent compared to all the professional mothers in the world. I should be napping instead of browsing online.
Blogs about motherhood are a bit less insufferable. When I can read them in between nursing my daughter, making PB&J’s, cleaning, and changing diapers, I wonder how mothers do this. Find time to write? Especially the Catholic mother who blogs, homeschools her five of nine children, uses natural family planning, and volunteers at her local parish. I’ve contemplated giving my children infant Tylenol so I could do laundry.
Living in the land of expectations is disappointing. I pictured both sets of grandparents present and doting on our children and perhaps lending a hand here and there. Two weeks before our first child was born, my father suffered a massive heart attack spiraling into quadruple bypass surgery and multiple hospitalizations. During both of my pregnancies, I frequented Intensive Care Units for tough family meetings to discuss end of life decisions for my father. He remains in long term rehabilitation. On our son’s first birthday, we were burying my mother-in-law who passed away unexpectedly a few days earlier. The joy of pregnancy and the arrival of our children were eclipsed by illness and death.
Praying for a Third? Instead, please pray for a mother to have gratitude.
It is terrifying to lose one’s self in the maze of motherhood. In this moment, any desire for more children is squashed. But as hard as it is to have my identity go rogue for a short amount of time while caring for my small children, it must be exponentially harder to deal with infertility, infant mortality, childhood accidents or disease.
I am so lucky to have two healthy hellions. They may drive me crazy on a daily basis, but they do bring me overall joy. When I nuzzle their warm little necks, I inhale their scent of maple syrup and fresh bread. Their giggles and laughs tickle my weak spot. Their squeezy hugs and guppy kisses are priceless. Thank you, God.
Praying for a Third? Instead, please pray for peace for families.
We’ve been told at a daily Mass that our active toddler son is a distraction to those who desire deep reflection, prayer, and minimal interruptions to the liturgy. On the one hand, respect the silence and don’t show up and on the other be present to show the example of a family to the community at large. We want to be at Mass. We want to get involved. The payoff includes screaming children, hormonal mothers, and distracted fathers.
In these modern times, support and reassurance from the Church are much needed. I respect Her wisdom and teachings. I am asking for understanding. In spiritual direction, I was told that years ago I would’ve had three or four children by now, so why the trouble? Life is different for families in the 21st century. Praying for a third? Instead, please pray for Our Lord to heal mothers from themselves, expectations, comparisons, and perfection – this way, a woman just might pray for another herself.
“I’ll be praying for a third.”
He smiled. I snarled. I had been inside with a toddler and newborn all day and the lack of sleep, vitamin D, and limited adult conversation was getting to me. I couldn’t even remember if I put on deodorant that day. My bladder was contracting from holding in fluids. Forget about simple pleasures such as bathroom breaks.
I’m locked up in a den of poopy diapers and laundry piles – not sure anymore which is clean or dirty. I rely on the trusted sniff test. Daily, I navigate the landmine of Legos and miniature cars and trucks just to get into the kitchen. Farm animals taunt me with their mechanical squeals and neighs. My daughter wants to be held most of the day and wails when she isn’t. It has been suggested to me to put her down and let her cry, but, her sobs make me sweat and feel queasy. I am one shriek away from turning into the Incredible Hulk.
My son is in perpetual motion. He is a curious little guy whose communication with the world around him is to touch and eat every single little itty bitty thing in his path. Unfortunately, on this night, there is no food on the table, only crumbs on the floor. My day is keeping my children alive and nothing more.
No wonder the oasis of the Catholic center with baked goods, young students, and budding conversation was more of a lure for my husband this winter night than the musky aroma of a haggard spouse whose latest fashion purchase was a nursing bra. My guess is that the Sister’s prayer for an expanding brood was well intentioned. However, I’m drowning with just two. It is not about the numbers. It is about the input.
Praying for a third? Instead, please pray for a healthy marriage and spousal support.
Just as Forrest Gump says “Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you are going to get”. The same can be said about marriage and family life. It is an adventure.
We settled into our first home in a college dorm apartment. We lived on a male floor in the middle of an L shaped hallway. There was no choice but to scurry down the hallway averting my eyes from the urinals and holding my breath to avoid the stench of used hockey equipment. Perhaps the experience was good preparation for our honeymoon pregnancy-our baby boy to join our family nine months after the vows. It was days after sharing the exciting news of our expectant little bundle that we both received disappointing news about our jobs, which forced us to reevaluate where we would go next. My husband works in Residential Life, so, less than one month after our first child was born, we needed to pack up our car with most of our belongings and stay with in-laws until we moved out of state to our new location for my husband’s new job.
Those sacramental vows were put into action as we learned to cope with living in the debris of the transition explosion we experienced all before our first wedding anniversary. We were learning to be spouses and parents, to trust each other, live with each other, create healthy boundaries with our families of origin (no easy feat), and to love each other without any expectation in return. As a result, there were many frosty nights and silent days.
I suspect that the Catholic Church supports the notion of “first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in the baby carriage.” Retreats like Marriage Encounter are not realistic for new families without support or finances as it requires travel, money, and babysitting. For the propagation of the race, I’d like to know how couples who respect and love the Church’s teachings live out their vocation as spouses and parents. Divorce and contraception can be quite tempting when times are tough.
Praying for a third? Instead, please pray for the health of the mother in body, mind, and spirit.
After my second born entered the world, I turned into a zombie. Bouts of rage crept up on me. I was unrecognizable to myself and my spouse. After encouragement from my husband, I sought counseling sessions. I felt like a failure. People have it so much worse. How could I not handle motherhood? Did having a child reveal a dark underlying condition that reared its ugly head because of lack of sleep? The beautiful notion of giving myself fully to my children was romantic until I had them.
A first time mother is also a newborn. Every cell in my body changed with pregnancy and childbirth. All the hormones that made my cheeks glow with a growing baby in my womb were flushed out during labor. I was left feeling sore, leaky, exhausted, and out of shape. Daily, I shed massive amounts of hair. I feared I’d have nothing left after a well needed shower in between lunch and the end of afternoon nap.
When a girl is feeling low about herself, it doesn’t help to be surrounded by young, skinny, fashionable, and intelligent college girls. If that isn’t enough, I’m surrounded by supermoms. The new expectation it seems is that mothers can do it all. So, it is not unusual to rub shoulders with women who earn doctorates and medical degrees while raising three children, teaching them sign and Mandarin as alternative languages, who cloth diaper their children and make all their baby food from scratch. Compared to the 70% of women who have returned to employment outside of the home, we have chosen the path less traveled by today’s standards. We women need to feel supported in our choice to stay at home or return to work. Both decisions require sacrifice. I stay home with our kids not because we are independently wealthy. We chose it because we believe it is the best option for our children.
The misconceptions that I perceive toward a stay at home mother are that she is uneducated, lazy, and likes smut television. Motherhood is the toughest job I have ever had. It burns me when I’m asked “if” I work or told I don’t work. Even family members (ahem...in-laws) have communicated to me that I need to do something more “lucrative” with my life as if raising children is on par with shooting up heroin.
Oh, how I salivate about the good old days of time and money for myself - a working professional respected for what she does, who could enjoy dinners, haircuts, clothes, and pedicures. All my remaining energy goes into fantasizing about five minutes to myself. I’ve tried to change my priorities and trust in God - no easy task this is! I haven’t heard a homily in over two years; my prayer life is barren, and trying to get through Sunday Mass turns out to be an occasion of sin and resentment towards my wriggly toddler and grouchy infant. Even if I can’t partake of the whole Mass because of a tantrum or diaper explosion, the Eucharist is the fraying shoe lace keeping me connected to God.
Praying for a third? Instead, please pray for support and resources.
We have been fortunate to have found a community of friends who are most able to understand this difficult stage in the life of young marriage and parenthood. I’ve been lucky to have made lifelong connections just because I am someone’s Mom. We live in an area with a prestigious higher education institution and a renowned hospital and medical school. Many working families are drawn in from all over the world to these employers. We live among an abundance of resources for women and children. From what I’ve seen, this transition requires many moms and dads to work and grandparents to uproot and move to help their offspring with their own offspring. The playgrounds, library story times, and local toddler watering holes reflect just that.
Social media provides its own flavor of support for parents. Sometimes it’s good and most times it’s not too tasty. For example, when did poop in the bathtub become photogenic? During the flu season, I am inundated with status updates about projectile vomit. Do I really care if moms have their pre-pregnancy bodies back after hiking the White Mountain Presidential Traverse two weeks after delivery? How many pictures of Disney can I see? Let me count the times. How about all the academic strides our toddlers make? Let’s post one million videos to show our friends who could really care less. Kudos to all those crafty moms who “pin” like crazy suggesting recipes and tips on how to jar their home grown vegetables and fruits. I’m exhausted from realizing that I’m a mediocre parent compared to all the professional mothers in the world. I should be napping instead of browsing online.
Blogs about motherhood are a bit less insufferable. When I can read them in between nursing my daughter, making PB&J’s, cleaning, and changing diapers, I wonder how mothers do this. Find time to write? Especially the Catholic mother who blogs, homeschools her five of nine children, uses natural family planning, and volunteers at her local parish. I’ve contemplated giving my children infant Tylenol so I could do laundry.
Living in the land of expectations is disappointing. I pictured both sets of grandparents present and doting on our children and perhaps lending a hand here and there. Two weeks before our first child was born, my father suffered a massive heart attack spiraling into quadruple bypass surgery and multiple hospitalizations. During both of my pregnancies, I frequented Intensive Care Units for tough family meetings to discuss end of life decisions for my father. He remains in long term rehabilitation. On our son’s first birthday, we were burying my mother-in-law who passed away unexpectedly a few days earlier. The joy of pregnancy and the arrival of our children were eclipsed by illness and death.
Praying for a Third? Instead, please pray for a mother to have gratitude.
It is terrifying to lose one’s self in the maze of motherhood. In this moment, any desire for more children is squashed. But as hard as it is to have my identity go rogue for a short amount of time while caring for my small children, it must be exponentially harder to deal with infertility, infant mortality, childhood accidents or disease.
I am so lucky to have two healthy hellions. They may drive me crazy on a daily basis, but they do bring me overall joy. When I nuzzle their warm little necks, I inhale their scent of maple syrup and fresh bread. Their giggles and laughs tickle my weak spot. Their squeezy hugs and guppy kisses are priceless. Thank you, God.
Praying for a Third? Instead, please pray for peace for families.
We’ve been told at a daily Mass that our active toddler son is a distraction to those who desire deep reflection, prayer, and minimal interruptions to the liturgy. On the one hand, respect the silence and don’t show up and on the other be present to show the example of a family to the community at large. We want to be at Mass. We want to get involved. The payoff includes screaming children, hormonal mothers, and distracted fathers.
In these modern times, support and reassurance from the Church are much needed. I respect Her wisdom and teachings. I am asking for understanding. In spiritual direction, I was told that years ago I would’ve had three or four children by now, so why the trouble? Life is different for families in the 21st century. Praying for a third? Instead, please pray for Our Lord to heal mothers from themselves, expectations, comparisons, and perfection – this way, a woman just might pray for another herself.
This is beautiful Abby, and so heartfelt and honest. I'm so glad somewhere somehow you found a window of time to write this beautiful gem that sparkles with wisdom. Wishing you all of these things, and peace.
ReplyDeletewarmly,
Shuba