Mother: Woman Working Toward a Good Mood

 

Four and a half years after bearing my second child I have come to notice something: I’m in a better mood. 

I don’t think I had post partum depression.  I think I was just in a very bad mood. 

I remember the early days of feeling beleaguered and my husband mistakenly asking, “What can I do to make you happy?”

Honestly.  I wasn’t throwing anything or screaming or crying.  I just hadn’t showered for a very long time.  I was wearing yoga pants.  Okay sweat pants, but they had style!  Well, they had a drawstring.

I could muster only one reply.  “Darling,” I said, “For now, this is what happiness looks like.”  

Here comes the bride!

Meanwhile, neighbors and general well-wishers couldn’t win with me.  If there’s one thing I can’t stand when I’m overweight and overwhelmed is anyone trying to be my friend.

If you’re the kind of person who stands in an elevator and politely ignores everyone around you, you’re my kind of girl.

And the job was my choice!  I know this.  I would encourage myself by raising my hand before a mirror and saying, “My name is Mother and I am a proud stay-at-home mom.”

But I needed a better mood.  I would mutter under my breath, I’m working on it!  Expletive, expletive.

I remember a day when my then three year-old daughter, while trying to turn a slippery doorknob, kept muttering expletive, expletive, ex ex expletive. 

I thought I’d better work on that mood a little harder…

But times have changed!

Now when neighbors chat, I feel cherished.  Valued! 

Human again. 

Circumstances help.

My children now vomit in the commode.  Mothers the world over will roll their eyes at that because no self-respecting child vomits anywhere but on the newest and most expensive duvet cover in the house, but I’m serious. 

Also, just last week my daughter asked, in front of her father, “So Mom, what would you like for Mother’s Day?”  I smiled like a princess and my husband’s shoulders got heavy.  Work on that good attitude honey!  And who’s got a pen?

Now my son picks up his toys.  Well, picked up a toy.  A worthy feat, if you only knew from whence we’d come.

I understand it’s just a reprieve season.  The storms will begin again.  But until they do, I revel in things like mother-daughter camaraderie. 

I asked my daughter what clothes she wanted to wear the other day and she said the unthinkable.  “I don’t care, mom.  Whatever you pick.”

Enjoy it I will.

Last Sunday, I feared a downturn coming when our whole family was leaving after church service and my daughter looked at me accusingly.  She said, “Mom!  I think you love God more than you love me.”

I looked at her face and ached with love for her like never before.

“How could I resist, sweetie?”  I said.  “Could you have given me you?”

I’m so grateful to now be grateful for these babies.  Not that I ever thought I’d made a mistake.  Entirely.

I was thinking this as an argument erupted from the backseat of our car between our two cherubs over who had to sit behind mom and whose turn it was to have the coveted seat behind dad.

Nice. 

As I was saying - grateful am I.  Expletive, expletive, expletive grateful.