8 and half weeks, that’s how long I have been a mom to three girls. Three beautiful daughters, each with her own magic and each possessing a key, the point of which slips through me, a perfect fit. The teeth grip me with insistence, turning my soul over and inside out.
Watch me.
Rock me.
Feed me.
Hold me.
Me.
You.
The inexorable waves of guilt wash over me, each thicker and heavier than the last. I stroke Fin’s brow and rather than feeling the bliss of flawless skin and rosebud lips, my insides quiver, the echoes of what I am not doing run wild. Briar sits alone, her slender arms wrapped around her knees, toenails ragged.
She chews her nails, toes and fingers. I have no idea where this quirk comes from and it shreds my insides to know that at not-yet-four she already has these nervous habits. She apologizes too. That’s me. I’m sorry, always I’m sorry. I don’t want that for her, I want her to rock every day of her life with an unapologetic spirit, seizing what is hers, what she has earned and what she deserves. The baby wiggling and fussing in my arms calls me back, breaking my reverie and leaving Bri alone, wrapped in her own arms.
Looking back into this third set of blue eyes, barely two months old and already keenly aware of when I am mailing it in. Attempts to type are met with writhing, stolen peeks at books and magazine are responded to with equal consternation.
Mama.
Me.
Hold me.
Watch me.
I want to tell her how much I want to hold her, how I want nothing more than to scoop her in my arms and run beneath a willow tree. We could lie for hours just watching the delicate leaves flickering along the slick limbs. We’d gasp and giggle at passing clouds. Long, slow nursing sessions, her little hands upon my breast, tracing circles on my side. My eyes would close, no need to watch, instead just feeling. Kissing her head as my body settles, limp and relaxed against the gentle slope of grass.
Avery is quiet, too quiet. I carry Fin to find her. Disheveled bangs feather against the olive fabric of the couch, eyes unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, so blue and big, almost too big for her tiny face, stare vacantly at the screen.
“Ave.”
She turns slowly, her eyes lifting to see me and the sudden light and smile that race across her face hit me with an emotional force that makes me tremble.
“Mommy!”
“Yes, baby?”
“You here? You sit? You come and sit with me? Right here?” She pats the spot beside me, a look of hope on her face. I smile and move toward her, excited to sit. She’ll press her little body against mine, her hands trace the constellation of freckles on my arms as she murmurs, “One freckle, one ‘nother one freckle.”
“Mom? Mom? Mom!” Briar calls from the other room.
I am annoyed, heartbroken and panicked all at once. FIn begins to squirm in my arms and Avery simply turns away, prepared to not be picked as Briar screams my name again. I want to run, but I can’t decide which way to go. I want to soothe, but the math doesn’t work. I have three girls and two arms. They each pull from a different direction and the only constant is my broken heart, my fear that I have failed.
I remind myself that my expectations are my own, but the guilt of wanting the best for them leaves me feeling ashamed. I am trying not to say sorry, trying to know that this is the only love they know. Some days I do better at this than others.
Today was hard.
Aw, this breaks my heart. It gets better. The first few months are hard, but everything eventually falls into place and becomes routine again.
Hang in there.
It breaks my heart too. Surely they can all feel this heart full of love you have for each of them.
oh friend. my heart breaks for you. only it quickly heals bc i know just how very lucky these girls are.
they have you. always.
you have filled days of the past and are yet to fill days in the future of little moments. moments they know in their heart of hearts.
truly lucky, lucky girls.
Your girls are lucky; today and always.
hugs to you.
this WILL get easier when fin doesn't need you 24/7.
have hope.
I'm sorry today was hard. This has got to be so bittersweet for you… I envy you your three girls and I don't.
Like SM said, though, it's gotta get easier as Finley becomes a lil less needy…
But that doesn't make it any less hard now. Hang in there, Mama.
From my point of view, you're doing an absolutely amazing job with these three treasures.
I suppose they're too young to learn it yet, but having siblings will teach the girls patience and compassion. Or, how to aim a barbie at another's head with amazing accuracy.
It does get better. And I believe that the depth of your feeling about this shows how hard you will continue to be their everything.
Your girls are so lucky to have you as a mom.
Oh by the way – (I posted about it) I dreamed I visited you and you hang out with Jennifer Aniston. See how cool you are? 🙂
I do think it will be easier as our newborns become less dependent. I only have the two but feel the same guilt some days that I cannot be more present with Sam or Harper.
When I am having doubts I remind myself I do have enough love to go around and they do feel it…
Your girls are very lucky to have you as their mama…
and yet still so beautiful
I have nothing but internet hugs to offer!
That's was good. I only have one and I still don't feel like two arms is enough.
Those are lucky little girls you have.
Amanda, this post truly brought me to tears as I remembered that summer of 2005. When I was you. Feeling those exact same emotions.
It does get easier hon. I promise.
I've wondered what the perfect words were to explain the inner turmoil that comes with having multiple children and feeling like you're not doing enough for any.
I can stop wondering. Beautifully written.
You've written what I'm feeling, yet again. Gosh I hope it does get easier and we feel less guilt. I know enough not to say "no guilt." I don't think that's possible.
I suspect I have it a little easier than you since my other two are older than yours, but it's still hard. I'm tired of hearing myself say "I can't do that right now" and "you need to wait."
This was beautiful and touching. Bittersweet. I've only got one, so I could say that I relate, but I really don't. I sure feel your pain, though. Lots of hugs from one stranger's heart to yours…
Embracing and exposing your humanity – like you did in this post – is one of the greatest and best gifts to give your daughters. You are an incredibly strong woman and mother.
Been there, still there. You aren't alone and your kids will be ok. A lot of our guilt is our own pain, not theirs (thank goodness).
I feel every word you've typed here, you've written this so well, thank you for putting these words out.
This makes me so sad. I remember feeling the same when my second daughter was born. My first girl was only 19 months and still very needy herself. It does get easier – as you know – but I still have moments when I have to "choose" and it always breaks my heart.
Lovely post.