I Grew Up So Fast: My Mamamorphosis

I’ve realized, after eight years and four kids, I’m not the same mom I once was. I’ve been the mom to an only child–a sweet, well behaved little girl. I’ve been the mom of a great big sister and a crazy toddler. And now I’m the mom of two big kids and baby twins. Each time I’ve become a mom I’ve become a different one than before–and yet I’m still not always a “good” mom!

For my daughter, now almost eight, I religiously registered at Babies ‘R Us. I zapped items with my husband and a Consumer Reports-approved excel spreadsheet list in tow. Her name was decided upon; her monogram was embroidered on her burp cloths. The crib bedding, which I had searched for months, matched the paint, rug, and glider. Her white knit and pink-ribboned going home from the hospital outfit was carefully selected from a local children’s boutique. A brand new swing, Moses basket, bouncy seat, baby bathtub and play mat all awaited her–cleaned and washed with special-ordered, baby-safe detergent and wipes.

I read every parenting book about newborns I could find. I dutifully followed instructions on belly button care, tummy time, solid foods, sleep patterns and developmental milestones. I made sure I read to her every night, played Baby Einstein and stuck to a nap schedule. Her clothes were smocked, coordinated and appliqued and she had a matching hair bow in every shade of every color of the rainbow. I signed her up for ballet, cheer, and soccer, bought number flash cards and alphabet puzzles, brushed her gums and then her teeth and boiled all her bottles and wiped down her toys once a week. I filled out her baby book in perfect handwriting and had a printed picture for every accomplishment. I was anxious for her to roll over, sit up, walk, talk, read. I even have her first steps on video!

I followed all the rules, trying to bring up the perfect little girl, all because I loved her so much.

Then four years later my son arrived. And I became a new mom. Again! And this time, I was a totally different mom. My son throws shrieking tantrums, crayons, and trucks, hits the dog, climbs shelves, pees in the yard, colors his siblings with a marker, drinks my makeup and eats chapstick and scotch tape. I am happy to be able to get clothes on him at all, let alone matching or monogrammed ones. So when he wants to wear his sister’s Frozen nightgown or a pink bathing suit because he wants to be just.like.Sissy., I let him. I’m happy when he falls asleep in the car because at least that means he’s asleep at all. If he learns his alphabet before he goes to kindergarten I’ll be relieved, and all he watches on TV is YouTube videos of LEGO trains. I’ve given up working on numbers with him and we pretty much only read the same picture book about firefighters over and over. He refuses to consume anything but chocolate milk and since it’s milk I’ve decided it’s an acceptable food group. He’s almost four and still has a paci. I don’t stress too much about him brushing his teeth because they’re going to fall out anyway. I never worried about him reaching the next milestone because inevitably it meant more effort to keep him out of trouble.

Then my twins arrived, and I was a new mom again (and again)! They’re going home outfits were stained with formula from their brother and sister. Their nursery is a hodge-podge of what was left from the older two, and their cribs don’t even match. Their clothes are hand-me-downs, their swings and stroller borrowed from friends, their bouncy seat toys broken–the batteries dead. I never wake them up to eat at night, I laughed at the pediatrician when they screamed during their first appointment, I don’t always rush to pick them up when they fuss (I can’t, there’s two of them!) and I use my t-shirt to wipe their spit bubbles. But here’s the thing: I’m confident in my care of them. Now, with four kids, if nothing is on fire or bleeding, I consider it a good day. If only one of them is crying at any given time I give myself a high five. At night I’m happy if they’re all asleep by 9 p.m., if they’ve managed at least applesauce for their fruit of the day, if they have a smile on their face and bedtime is accomplished without tears. And I don’t care if it’s Sunday and they’ve been wearing the same pajamas since Friday night.

With each kid, I’ve tried to be the best mom I can be. Over the past eight years I’ve learned that the things I thought were so important to have a well-raised kid–well, they really aren’t. And now the things I didn’t realize were important I am suddenly panicking about being able to teach them, so they grow up to be good humans.

The mom I am today I never saw coming–I probably never even would have been friends with her back during the first year of my daughter’s life! I’m sure I’m not done going through my mamamorphosis and if kids teach you anything it’s that what you thought you knew–yeeeaahhh, you don’t know anything. You just keep changing and trying to be the best mom you can be, because you love them so much.