Harder

I wrote in my less-censored paper journal a couple of weeks ago about how my Anna seemed to be flailing since Kate's arrival. Although she adores her baby sister and has, by most measures, done exceedingly well with all the changes that have been thrown at her recently, the instability--due to more than just Miss Kate--has noticeably rocked Anna. To be truthful, she's not the only one who has felt rocked. I've had my moments of flailing over these past four weeks, too.

Kate arrived and is a delightful baby. She has moments of fussiness, but is largely content. She's a good eater, decent sleeper, and yesterday, she melted me with crooked little newborn smiles off and on all day long. When I look back to how life was with Anna as a new baby, Kate makes me feel as if I'm cheating somehow. I'm grateful for the joy she is, for the way she has so naturally nestled into our family.

And there--even with that brief moment of looking back into Anna's infancy while delighting in Kate--a theme emerges. Oh, Anna. It makes me a little sad when I realize that so many of my memories of her are punctuated with "struggle." I struggled to calm her when she was a tiny baby. She struggled with a first year and a half full of medical mishaps from bronchiolitis to peanut-induced hives to a broken leg. As she has gotten older, she and I both struggle trying to find a balance with her energy, her fearlessness, her creativity, her willfulness and the discipline and nurturing that she so desperately needs. Heck--I even struggle taming her wild curls, which are so her in a nutshell. In that same journal I mentioned earlier, I wrote that, in this transition to becoming a family of four, Kate hasn't been my puzzle. It has been Anna. Somehow, it's always Anna.

With the birth of Anna, so much was spurred into motion, so many lessons emerged that began to radically alter my viewpoints, enrich my life. And still, as is echoed in nearly every blog post and journal entry I have written, my Anna is amazing, incredibly loved, and worth every tear (and elevated blood pressure point) she has caused.

Kate is still so new--so small--but even in the brief time she has been here, I can see that she will bring with her a whole new set of lenses through which I will begin to view my life. They will be different lenses from those her sister has shared, but they will be no more or less valuable.

Being a mom, I'm realizing, is a process. It involves constant change, constant refinement, constant motion, and it seems to be a great magnifier as well. So much of motherhood is harder than I anticipated.

Before my girls were born, I don't think I'd fallen in love harder or felt so invested, so vulnerable, so breathless at the sight of anyone, especially someone so tiny.

Before my girls were born, I had never prayed harder for anyone to be protected, for wisdom, for understanding, for patience, for things I can't even put words to.

Before my girls were born, I had never tried harder to be someone's everything or fallen harder when I realized I couldn't be. It was then I learned to lean harder on God's grace.

Before my girls were born, I had never cried harder out of joy or frustration or worry or exhaustion or confusion or hurt or sadness. Having said that, before my girls were born, I don't think I had ever laughed harder, either.

Last night when I tucked Anna in, we were discussing what today might bring for both of us. She was particularly interested in helping me pick out my clothes and wanted to make sure she had a chance to help dress Mom. (She loves to dress herself these days and comes up with some wildly creative combinations.) I told her we could talk about it in the morning, and she insisted, "Mom, it's just so hard for you. It's really hard. You need let me help you get some clothes in a morning." It made me laugh. See? Even selecting an outfit for the day is harder as a mom...at least according to one toddler...