I recently taught Benton how to sign “more” and “all-done” to avoid grunting and screaming in the high chair. I haven’t gotten much further than that, but he picked up the signs in a few days and has been doing well. When he signs “more” for a game that we are playing or wrestling with dad, that is when I pretty much die.
This post wasn’t supposed to be about signing, but whenever I hear the word “more” I picture B’s little fingers touching with an expectant look on his face. And then I lose my train of thought. You know when you read the same paragraph over and over again in a book, because your mind wanders elsewhere? This is much of my day.
More. The past year has been more everything. More happiness than I could imagine. More loneliness than I could have predicted. More worry than I would have liked. More victory than I expected. I have more love to give than I thought possible. More patience than ever before. More uncertainty than I’d hoped. More laundry. More mess. More work. More reward. More tired. More play. The good days are that much better. The bad days are that much worse. Everything is exponential.
I saw someone post on a new mother’s Facebook wall that she will “loooove being a moommmmy soooo much <3<3<3!!!!” I admire her friend’s enthusiasm. I too, love being a mom. But, that wall post only tells part of the story. I keep seeing it in my mind and it has started to irk me. Will this new mom feel sad when she isn’t loving every minute of her new life? Should she feel guilty for not loving each and every aspect of motherhood? Newborns are wonderful, but also such a mystery. In the heat of frustration, I hope she doesn’t feel like a failure if she isn’t loving being a mommy right at that second.
Maybe I am over thinking this harmless comment. I guess I don’t like when motherhood is portrayed so simply. Wrapped up in a neat happy package that and handed to a woman like: ”HERE! LOoooove it!” It doesn’t work that way for most people, and it perpetuates expectations that are impossible to live up to.
Yes, I am a happy mom. But if I stop there, then I am selling myself and every other mom (or mom-to-be someday) short. I am also a ____ mom. Fill in the blank with nearly any other emotion you can think of and multiply it by a million.
The exponential aspect of being a parent continues to fascinate me. My heart is certainly in new territory from so much swelling. I feel stronger and ready for more. 
