Simple Advice for the New Mom

There's this season in motherhood that is the hardest.  Not because of a particular stage that the children are going through.  No, because of a stage that the mother is going through.  It's that first year of a child's life.  Or even more narrowly: the first 4 to 6 months.

The child is so needy.  So all consuming.  So tiring.  So new.

That newness shifts everything in a new mother (especially the first time around).

Prior to that infant leaving the perfect cradle within you, your life has rhythm.  A rhythm you chose.  A checklist for you to accomplish.  A regularity.  A purpose.  You have control.

But from that first contraction rocking the life within, a new mom is swallowed by the chaotic reality that our control was just an illusion.

A newborn breaks open all sense of self-efficiency.
A newborn brings low what once was haughty.
All the "I will never do that when I have kids," is challenged as a new person enters.

I've often said that I am perhaps the only newborn photographer who hates the newborn stage and this is why: the newborn stage is the most vulnerable for the mother.

New mother, your role has just shifted from something that you could measure the accomplishment for by the end of the day.  To a qualitative role where nothing is ever measured and everything you have done all day is un-done by the end of the day.

The child you have longed for is changing everything about your life that you have loved.  Sleep.  Quiet evenings with your husband. The clean house.  The warm meal served on time.  Basically the ability to do anything you want right when you want or need is stolen from you.

New mom, you are out of control.  You are out of the illusion that you ever have any control.

And that is a crazy-vulnerable place to be.

So much advice out there floats to you.  You read it in books.  You read when your child should nap.  When you should nap.  That you should or shoudn't rock.  Your friends ask if the baby is sleeping yet.  Your husband wonders aloud if the fussy baby isn't still hungry 10 minutes after you feed them.  You wonder about your milk being enough.  You wonder if formula would make them sleep.

You taste the curse.  The curse that child bearing will bring pain.  Oh, you're beyond shocked to find that the worst pain of all is not labor (no, that is just the beginning), but the worst pain is mother-guilt.

New Mom, it doesn't have to be this way.  The mother-guilt can be surrendered.

There will never be a checklist for motherhood.  There will never be a regularity.  You are working with a person, and just when you think you figure that person out something will change.  They will drop a nap.  Or they will outgrow the fussy stage.  Or they will start waking from tooth pain.

You can't measure your worth as a mother by a checklist of what your children can and cannot do.  Or on how the schedule of the day progresses.  Or on the number of crossed out items on your to-do list at the end of the day. Those things will only increase that mother-guilt.

No, new mom, there is only one way to conquer that mother-guilt.

You have to own that mother-guilt, pick it up with open hands, and offer it up to the Lord Jesus Christ.  In that awe-ful moment, you're going to be surprised as the mother-guilt that has defined you peals out of your hands and floats away.  It was never your definition.

New mom, you are not defined by what you don't do for or with your child (or your husband, or your home), nor are you defined by what you do accomplish.  Underneath all those labels you've given yourself is your true name:

Beloved.

That is who you are, new mom.  The precious most beloved daughter of Christ.

Love Him because He has loved and named you in His death and resurrection.  Listen to what He is calling you to do.  Do the next thing.  Let go of all the failures.  Give Him the glory for all your feeble successes.  Treat the non-essential areas of parenting (nap times and lengths, pacifiers,  baby wearing) as scientific process: keep trying things until you know what works for you and your baby.

Admit you are not in control (you never have been) and rejoice in that as you feel all your mistakes piling up in front of your little one.  God can use even your mistakes to weave a beautiful thing for your child.

No matter what else you hear, hear this:  You are the Beloved.

Own your true name and lay aside the guilt.  Jesus died because he loved you so that you could live in freedom from condemnation.  Live free, Beloved.

A Mother Letter

Last night I shared a sweet conversation with a dear friend.  A friend afraid to fail like I am.  We walked through our failures.  We shared our leanings.  We cried (or came close to it).  We came away refreshed.

This morning I stumbled on the Mother Letters.  A collection of letters written from one mother to another to encourage and uplift.  And I thought about that conversation and what I would say to my hippo-sized pregnant with twins self. 

This is for you, Mothers.
__________________________________________________________________

Dear Mother,

It's okay if you fail.

You're going to become lazy in discipline.  You're going to crush little hearts.  You're going to want a vacation.  You're going to wish you'd remained barren.

It's okay.

You don't have to be perfect.

The gospel is big enough for you.

Grace is big enough for you.

Christ died so you could fail without condemnation.  And that grace leads us to repentance.  To restoration of relationship.  To knowing that He is enough.  That He will change hearts (yours and theirs) through you and in spite of you.

Mother, mothering isn't about you.  Or your kids.

It's about the Jesus Christ, and His Message: the GOSPEL.

Let me be honest with you:

I am prone to fits of rage when my toddler hides her shoes right after I asked her to put them on so we can leave. 

I get bitter and resentful when my 5 month old son wakes multiple times and screams while all my friend’s babies sleep 12 hours before 2 months old.

I crush little spirits with thoughtless words.

My home is often as disorderly and chaotic as a drunken bachelor’s pad.

All of this is me- left to myself.

But this is where the gospel reaches down and plucks me from the patterns of my sinfulness.  This is the point where God adopted me.  Where He made me His daughter.

I was a mess when God called me as His own.

I am still a hot mess.

He knew that.

Reomans 5:8 says that “while we were still sinners Christ died for us.”  Jesus knew I would flounder and flail and rage over little bodies.  He knew that and He still chose me.  He still died for me.  He still died for you, mother.

The gospel changes everything.

Motherhood isn’t about doing everything right.  God knew we would fail.

He knew my clean laundry would grow into mountains taller than my toddlers.  He knew that when my daughter laid on my face with an elbow in my eye socket that I would bite her to break free.  He knew that I would yell at my son at 3 in the morning demanding that he would sleep.  Jesus knew that and He still loved me enough to die for me.  He loves you the same.

And more than that: when God looks at us he doesn’t see our sin.  No, God sees Jesus’s perfect-ness.  His righteousness.

Mother, this is what should empower us to love and serve our children even though we know we're going to fail:

The Gospel!

My children disobey and I’m called to love them at their darkest.  Bronwyn jumps out of her toddler bed 40 times in one naptime.  Each time she is patiently disciplined and repeats the gospel after me:  “Dear Jesus, please help me to obey because you died for my sin.” 2 days later she finally manages to stay in her bed.  The gospel empowers me to consistently discipline without anger.  After all, isn’t God patient with my sin?

I blow it and yell at my girls over those dumb hidden shoes.  I stuff her feet in a too small pair and hustle them out the door.  I know I belw it.  I don’t beat myself up because it’s not about my perfection: it’s about the gospel.  I stop, I hold little faces in my palms, I tell them I was wrong to yell- that Jesus died for my sin too.

My toddler throw an ear splitting tantrum at library story time because the can’t touch the book the librarians are reading.  All the other mothers look at me with mixtures of pity and judgement.  I feel scorned and like I’m a terrible mom.  I leave nearly in tears.  On the ride home, the gospel plays perfectly-timed on the radio.  And I realize how much they’ve grown; a week ago they might have ripped the book pages and bit the librarian.  What grace that this time it was just a tantrum.  And, besides,  their behavior doesn’t reflect on who I am as a mother or a person- I am God’s beloved daughter.  No tantrum (mine or theirs) can change that!

Because Jesus preferred em enough to die for me, I start letting the girls pick out their clothes.  Even though I think I might die of embarrassment as Aerie picks out red heart 'jammie pants and a polka dotted hot pink monkey shirt.  She almost glows that day when church nursery workers call her a cutie.  What joy I would have missed had I forced her to wear what made me look and feel good!

I’m not trivializing motherhood.

It is hard.

We wonder if anything we do matters.

We try to quantify our success by a clean house at the end of the day.  Or how well behaved our kids are on an outing.  Or how many people tell us we look great 2 months after pregnancy when we’ve stuffed ourselves into pre-pregnancy jeans and covered dark sleepless eyes with heaps of concealer.  But in secret we wonder whether our kids will sit in a psychiatrist chair and tell of how we let them run around panty-less in the yard because it was the only way they’d poop in the potty.  And, oh yeah, that little potty was right in the middle of the yard where all the neighbors could see. Oh, wait, maybe I’m the only one who worries about that last one.

But motherhood is kingdom work.  And building any kingdom, especially God’s kingdom, is work wrought with suffering, challenges, and growing pains. 

Our job isn’t to be perfect: Jesus already did perfect for us.

Our job is to humbly admit who we really are, fail and repent, and quit hiding behind masks of perfectionism.  To live life free and with no condemnation.  To live life empowered knowing that while we were sinners God chose to die in our place.

Our job is to live the gospel in front of our children and the whole world.

I'm here to walk with you, Mother, if you'd just have the courage to ask me to be real.  Or maybe I should have the courage to call you next time I fail.

I love you, Mother.

Keep doing what He's called you to do.

Melissa

Two Years

I've been a Momma for two years now.  I've cared for two little newborns who have grown into semi-independent toddlers.

Let me tell you the truth: it never gets easier, it just get different (and sometimes in more bearable ways than others).

Each day is always a direct affront to my selfishness and a quiet invitation to humility when I can't do it alone.

Each day lasts an eternity in its myriad of little crisis and discoveries, but each month or year passes in a blink.

Each day is filled with opportunities to build up my girls in discipline, in love, in joy or to tear them down with my own frustration, criticism, and ingratitude.

Each day is hard.

But each day is a miracle filled with one thousand gifts.

Aeralind Grace and Bronwyn Hope, thank you for shaping me for His Glory.

Mompetitors

Mompetitors. I'm not sure where I heard this term, but it makes me laugh.  The sad part is, that it makes me laugh because there is truth in this made up word.  Moms are getting so caught up in what the 'right' way is to raise a child that they alienate other moms who don't share their views.

A few days ago I was at a park with my girls.  They were crawling around my feet while I sat there feeding them a banana.  Another mom walked over and the first thing she said to me was:

"I thought they were wearing cloth!  You must be a crunchy momma like me."

For the next ten minutes she proceeded to regal me with tales of how her son's pediatrican had wanted him drinking out of a cup at 15 months and how her breast milk had more calories than cows' milk so she didn't understand what his issue was.  And about prefolds, and Blueberry diapers and a few other diaper terms (which I wasn't altogether familiar with).  Meanwhile her 3 year old son is off wrecking havoc on the playground by trying to take a living dog from another little girl.  And I can't get in a word edgewise.  Finally, I'm able to say that I only cloth diaper because I'm cheap and prefer to save the two grand a year we would have spent on diapering twins.  She looks at me aghast and more or less looses interest in me.

And I sighed a sigh of relief

Suddenly mothering has all these labels.  Crunchy and Silky.   Attachment parenting and Baby-wise parent.  Co-sleepers and crib sleepers.  Spankers and positive reinforcement only.   It's a crazy world to be thrown into and it all starts when you birth a child (or two).

Now if someone were to give me a label it would probably be "Chewy" or the coin word for somewhere between crunchy and silky.  I'd get that label because I do things on both sides of the parenting fence.

I didn't do formal sleep training, but I did cry it out.
I use cloth diapers, but I don't object to disposables.
I make my own baby food, but I buy local and non-organic.
I use corporal punishment for direct disobedience, but I prefer to use positive reinforcement most often.
I love and sort of ascribed to the idea of baby-led weaning as far as finger food goes, but I did spoon feed and I am the one initiating the end of the breastfeeding relationship.
I vaccinate my children, but I do so selectively.

But the truth of the matter is that none of that matters.  None of it. But most of us moms don't see that and get caught up in this mom-competitive world.

I actually had a long conversation about this with a good friend.  Despite my merciless way of telling people like it is (when I know them well enough), I am pretty sensitive.  My feelings get hurt easily and I tire of insinuations that because I'm not doing what you're doing then I'm doing something wrong.

Now, understand me, I know there are solid absolute truths when parenting children.  Most of these truths are recorded in scripture and come to life with the gospel.  Parenting requires teaching the Law through the teaching of obedience and the application of discipline.  But like the gospel, healthy doses of grace should be sprinkled throughout our lessons.

However, the choice to let my children chew on a rock because I know no ultimate harm will come from it is not wrong.  Perhaps it's different that the choice you would make, but that's okay.  I've chosen to allow my children to explore nature and that does not make me negligent.  It was a choice.  It was my choice to make.

And the truth is, if we all made the same choices (were all crunchy or silky or chewy or whatever) there would be no diversity. 

And without diversity there would be no one to learn from.

So what I'm learning is to let stuff go.  To ignore comments that seem judgmental (or maybe really are) and to keep my tongue from making similar comments.  Because the truth is none of it matters in the grand scheme of things.  

What matters is that we all have the same goal: to bring our children to the foot of the throne of Jesus Christ.