Hellobee

I always loved babies. I was the teenager that always wanted to help in the church nursery so I could rock babies  I love to listen to their tiny little noises, feel their itsy bitsy fingers wrap around my own, and see those little baby smiles. There’s nothing better in the world to me than a baby falling asleep in your arms. I love me some babies.

Toddlers . . .  Now, that’s a different story. I had nieces and friends with kids long before I became a parent, and I loved those kids to pieces. But when they were in the 1-2 year-old stage, I really wanted to hang out with and love on them in very, very short doses. There are few things physically cuter than a toddler with their scrunched up expressions, their clumsy attempts to do grown up things, and that classic toddler run with arms and legs flailing everywhere. They’re so cute . . . in pictures and videos. But toddlers are my own personal kryptonite. The tantrums. The insistence on “I do it I self!” regardless of capability. The inability to use logic and reason. The lack of language to meaningfully communicate their woes and the frustration that results. I know in my head that all those things are developmentally appropriate and are necessary for growth and learning. But those things are also like nails on a chalkboard to me.

Nothing is cuter than a toddler learning to be a walrus with French fries.  Am I right?

When I had newborn twins, I was exhausted, but I reveled in my tiny precious babies. I could handle the sleep deprivation (within reason). I understood their helplessness and felt relatively capable of using intuition and a schedule to meet their little needs. When they cried, I would sincerely express, “It’s just so hard being little, isn’t it?!”

Around their first birthday, I felt the frustration and the exasperation start to seep in. Soon I was pregnant with #3 and dealing with two kids in full blown tantrum-throwing, boundary-testing toddler mode. I wondered if we had made a terrible mistake having another one. There was no way I was going to survive this stage much less be able to live through it again. In the throes of driving my sleepless toddlers around in the middle of the night (oh, two-year-old molars, my old nemesis . . .), I would let my mind slowly drift to the question no mom can actually voice out loud: “What if I don’t really like my kids?” I mean, you’re supposed to feel the overwhelming love all the time for them, right? And, yes, I would have unquestioningly thrown myself in front of a bus to save their tantruming little lives and I would always protect and care for them and work to fill their hearts and lives with joy, love, and security . . . but what if I just didn’t like being a mama right then? What if I just didn’t like them all the time? Was that a ticket straight to hell and would I always feel like this?

My next little guy was born when the twins were just a few weeks shy of two. I once again reveled in having a baby. He was perfect and sweet and I could have held him for hours. At least, I could have if I wasn’t also staying home with two two-year-olds at the time. While I loved every minute of Graham’s babyhood, just like I had with Finn and Elliot’s first year, that next year was hard–so, so, so hard.

Around 2 1/2, I felt like I saw the first glimmers of hope that maybe someday things would get easier. Around 3, we experienced a whole new level of tantrums and emotions, and I briefly wondered if three was going to be worse, but even then the glimmers of good stuff kept me looking forward. By 3 1/2, I was loving the twins’ stage of life again. It wasn’t always easy, but it was so much better for my mental state, and I really enjoyed “mama-ing” them again. We weren’t just surviving anymore, we were back to thriving. Their language, personalities, inquisitiveness, and playfulness had exploded, and it was so much fun. At a couple months past four, I’m loving this stage even more. I’m back to feeling like I’m in my jam again. I certainly get frustrated, exhausted, and just need five minutes to myself sometimes, but overall, it feels good again.

When the twins turned three and we were beginning to see the light with them, Graham had turned one and was ramping up in the toddler stage. As a baby, he was laid back, easy to keep happy, all smiles and giggles and just a joy to be with. As a toddler . . . he’s a toddler. We lovingly refer to him as our little “wrecking ball.” He has a far worse temper than the twins did, he can throw a tantrum with the best of them, he is fiercely independent, and he thinks he should be allowed to do anything that his brothers who are two years older than him can do. He’s a hot mess of toddlerness right now, and just like his brothers, I often find myself wanting to hide in the closet and eat brownies to survive. The biggest difference is that having gone through this with the twins, I know that this is simply a stage that isn’t my best parenting stage. It doesn’t mean I don’t love my kid. It doesn’t mean I don’t like my kid. It doesn’t mean I’m a bad mom or my kids are bad kids. It’s just not my jam.

I read something Jen Hatmaker once wrote about how parenting teen kids was her jam. She talked about how there were different stages of parenting that you were better or worse at, that you enjoyed your kids more or less at, but that their seemed to be a few stages along the way where everything clicked, and you were really in your jam.

There is a sense of freedom in that idea for me. It makes sense that while you love your kids always and will do everything in your power to help them grow properly, to feel your love, to keep them safe, it’s okay to have stages that you just hold on and survive and other stages that you are in your element and that you thrive at parenting that stage of child.

For me, I love babies. I can deal better with the hardships of that stage than those that come with toddlerhood. Some of my friends just survive it and long for the day when they can have more interaction with their baby. As incomprehensible as it is to me, they actually say things about toddlers, like, “I love this stage. It’s my favorite!” Luckily, we’re not each only allotted one stage to love. Turns out, I like three-year-olds pretty well. I love 4-year-olds. Someday, the twins will enter another stage (pretty sure Jr. High age will make rear its ugly head, if not long before that) where for a few months or a year or two, we clinch our fingers around the rope of love and hold on to pull us through until we get back to really enjoying that particular kid’s stage.

So, mamas and daddys, maybe you have loved every stage of parenting, and good for you, if that’s true. But if it’s not, let me just speak into your hearts for a moment, that it is normal and okay to not love every day, every month, or even every year. It doesn’t mean you don’t love your kiddo. It doesn’t mean you are not grateful for the gift of that child in your life. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad parent or that you’re failing your child. It’s just not your jam. Do you best. Find another parent who’s a little ahead of you in the game and can give you hope that this too shall pass. And keep taking it one minute at a time because eventually those minutes will add up and you’ll stop at the end of the day and think what a great day it was. Then, you’ll realize that you’ve had a week or a month of days that overall were pretty good days. Parenting is never an easy feat, but it is always a worthwhile one. It’s just a lot more fun when you’re in your jam.

What have been your favorite and least favorite stages of parenting so far?