Sparkle

In the beginning of 2020 I had spontaneous lunch with two friends at my house. We had all run into one another at the nearby library and with the lunch hour approaching and an unopened pack of hotdogs in my refrigerator, I offered our home as a place more welcome to noise to further catch up and let the kids play.

Ah… That pre-COVID life.

As the kids ran off to the playroom, we gathered up used dishes and got to talking. Being the New Year, we shared things we were hopeful for. One gal mentioned that maybe another baby would be part of the next twelve months.

We all sighed knowing it was a possibility for all of us. A want of all of ours. But, each of us had been pricked by motherhood and that left the journey and decisions towards more children challenging.

One woman, with two children, had suffered multiple miscarriages. The other was facing what her doctor called, “secondary infertility,” meaning she got pregnant once with no problem; but now, in an effort for a second baby, it’s taking much longer than anyone would like. And, then there was me. A history of no problems becoming pregnant, but a body that doesn’t seem like delivery and a hormonal makeup that doesn’t seem to like the early days.

All of us had dreams of other babies. More babies. But, also have concerns and challenges in getting us there.

It’s a common question from just about anyone these days and even one that I ask myself daily: “Are you going to have another?”

Since as long as I could remember, I wanted four kids.

I thought it was a great number. Enough, but not strange.

I saw it all so clearly in my mind: The busy house, the loud table, the wild Christmas.

I also wanted my kids to have a tribe of siblings, preferably all them experiencing life with both a brother and sister.

Adam and I agreed early on that big families are more fun, the kids from big families were funnier and well adjusted and that a big family is what we both wanted. As newlyweds, we would joke that if we ever won the lottery, and saving for college wasn’t a thought to consider, we would just have lots and lots of babies.

Like it’s that simple.

There is a lot of things I got wrong about babies and motherhood before I experienced them.

I’d like to think that I was ready for a baby. I was nearly 29, after all. Married for a handful of years, career established, money made and saved, living in a home we owned. I was pretty self aware, calm in most emergencies and super self sufficient because I knew how to grow my own food, do minor car maintenance, start an LLC and travel Europe without a smart phone.

I did a lot to build a life and was told by so many well meaning friends and bloggers and celebrities that I could just “fit the baby into that life!” I imagined our babies just coming along for a ride on the great things Adam and I had worked so hard to build and get into place.

I recently heard this best explained with the most banal expression on Kate Kennedy’s “Childless Millennial” podcast. She shared how she has felt pressure and has worked hard at getting “her ducks in a row” pre kids (Think: The house, the career, the finances, the relationships…) and feels the pressure to have a child. So, after all that work she is supposed to just “cannonball” into those ducks?

I didn’t know about the cannon ball.

At least I don’t think I did.

And, maybe I did. But, I thought I would be exempt because I had stuff figured out and had support or because it had been proven over and over that I was highly capable of so much. Or, it would maybe be more like a nice pencil jump (… ex-life guard here). Or, maybe I just ignored the idea of the cannonball, distracted by Freshly Picked moccasins and pretty, pretentious cloth diapers.

But, it was a cannon ball and it jostled everything I had so nicely in a row. My marriage, my job, my friendships, my body, my passions, goals, confidence, things I thought I knew about myself and the world… All of it was hit and out of place.

Having a baby and then another didn’t just “fit into our life” or even cause a couple ripples. It fundamentally changed everything.

This fall, a friend who I don’t see often asked, “So when are you having another?” She knew about my desire for a big family and she also has two kids of her own that are similar in age to mine. She also wants a bigger family.

I wavered saying, “I don’t know. There is my health thing and then…” I trailed off, “I don’t know.”

I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to say or how to say it.

She did.

“It’s hard!,” she exclaimed and I thought she was going to go into a conversation about how hard the decision is to make. A conversation I have been a part of before. The, “It’s crazy to think about going back to diapers” and “We kind of have a routine.”

But, she had not finished her full thought:

“Those hormones in the beginning are the worst. I hate not feeling like myself.”

I had lumped the hormone thing into “health” knowing my propensity for the blues after babies and not sure that is the best way of being, especially with other kids around. But, I also just don’t like feeling that way.

I think back to when I was especially low after Theo and didn’t even get what was going on with me. There was a day around One Month that my friends were visiting and I watched them hold my son. They looked beautiful, confident and put together as they laughed on my living room floor. I felt far from any of those things and I remember a specific, weird word some across my mind.

Sparkle.

My friends seemed to sparkle.

And, I wondered if I would ever sparkle again.

The friend continued, “And, they don’t just last a year. It wasn’t until my daughter was, like, two and a half that I felt normal again.”

I thought more.

Since that day in my living room nearly five years ago, I have tried to fit many different molds of mothering trying to find my way back to “me.” Like the work done in the early adult part of my life, many did not fit or work. But, finally, this summer– when my youngest was two and a half– I started to feel it again. I felt like the ducks were back in a row. A bit of a messy, Type B row, albeit. But, a row.

In more thought about it, that way of being has served me much of my life anyways. Being okay with B’s. Being fine with putting things out in the world without over thinking it. Being self aware to not worry about perfection. Being okay with “good enough.”

Finding this part of me again and living it in a year that truly could have sent me spiraling again actually made me feel a little… sparkle.

Now, nearly five years later and I finally feel like my ducks are again in a row and I feel like myself again. And, I like it.

I didn’t like the chaos of the cannon ball and the clean up that came after it. I didn’t like not feeling happy, light, and confident. I didn’t like trying to force things. I didn’t like not feeling like me.

My brain, thanks to outside messaging and things I think and worry people think about me, makes me tell myself things like, “I am selfish.” If I was a good mom this wouldn’t matter. I would just want babies no matter what. At any cost, especially at the cost of my- LOL- *mental health.*

“Sparkly” is a silly feeling and even sillier way of being. And, I am not the girl– nor have I ever been– that fits a stereotypical “sparkly” package. Context: I am much more a Vivian than Elle Woods.

But, I feel sparkly again.

I feel like me again.

And, maybe even like a better, stronger me. A me with more thoughts and conviction. A me with more passion and courage. A me that is less worried, but cares more too. A me that is curious again and wants to try and learn new things. A me that is lighter in more ways than one.

And, I like it.

I find myself excited about clothes and doing my hair again. I am really into art and hobbies and I want to host dinner parties and go out with friends (hopefully sooner than later…). I love who my kids are and who they are becoming. I want to play with them, laugh with them, cheer them on and focus on my own health to give them the gift of my own longevity. I am loving making out with my husband and growing our businesses together. I adore getting into deep conversations over wine with him and those close to me. I am wanting to learn more, read more, write more and just drink coffee in quiet.

Listing it out makes it seem superficial and that chorus of, “If you were a good mom these things– clothes and hobbies, coffee in quiet– wouldn’t matter.”

But these are my ducks.

Do I really want to do another cannonball?

Right now the ripples on the water are sparkling in the sun.

And, I like it like this.

It is good.

Good enough for me.