I couldn’t sleep last night and it had nothing to do with Aurora wetting the bed at midnight, the baby waking at 3 am to nurse for an hour or Harper screaming out at 5:30 for her lost pacifier; rather, it was because I had an Ah-Ha moment, as Oprah would say.

Lately, our eldest, Aurora has become increasingly fearful of everything.  She’s afraid to go to school, even though she returns home full of exciting stories of her day.  She’s afraid of the birds at Mt. Trashmore and refuses to play on that playground.  She is terrified of houseflies.  And recently, she is afraid of sleeping in her room alone which results in her crawling into bed with us every-other night, further disrupting our already-broken sleep.

I reached out to my tribe, my group of Stroller Strides Moms, for advice and they were gracious with their input.  Some suggested a small bed for Aurora on the floor in our bedroom while others advised the use of essential oils or soothing music.  A lightbulb went off when one mom shared that she, too, remembered having a lot of anxiety as a child.  It caused me to question, why?

Are some of us predisposed to have more anxiety than others and/or is this anxiety exacerbated by environmental factors?   One of my friends pointed out that at four years old, “. . . this is an easily triggered phase” in which “They are in that awkward stage of still being dependent but learning how to be independent.”  I thought this very astute and likely accurate but I couldn’t help to wonder where my responsibility lies in Aurora’s nature.

I lay in bed last night, thinking about the ways in which I may have unintentionally contributed to Aurora’s fears.  I am certainly guilty of inducing fear when it comes to walking near a road, hot stove, or toilet in a public restroom.  Certainly my intentions are good- I want to keep her safe.  And that is when it hit me like a wave of warm sun rays, enlightening me.

Aurora’s fears are merely an extension of my fears.  I cannot bear the thought of losing her to a car accident, so I graphically explain that she could be flattened like a pancake if she were hit.  I cannot bear the thought of her in pain, so I gruesomely describe what it would feel like if her skin were to burn.  I cannot bear the thought of my baby throwing up, so I raise my voice in fear if she looks like she is about to touch a toilet seat.

There’s a fine line between appropriate caution and inducing unnecessary fear and I think I may have crossed it more than once.  Moreover, Aurora is obsessed with the Disney Princesses and with the exception of Merida from the movie Brave, most are not known for their courage.  They are pretty and in need of a prince to save them.   Not only am I encouraging Aurora to be fearful through my words and actions, but I am also surrounding her with helpless role models.

New Leaf Parenting.  Every Day is a Fresh Start.  Today is a new day and it is time for a change.  This morning, when Aurora climbed into bed with me, the first thing I told her wasn’t how beautiful she looked; rather, how courageous I thought she was for staying in her bed all night last night (aside from the bed-wetting accident).  During breakfast, I validated her fear of school by explaining that I understood that she loved school but that she missed her mommy and that we were going to fix that.  When Daddy comes home from work today, I am going to take Aurora aside to play with her alone.  I vowed to do that more often with her.

Later today, I plan on picking up some new library books full of courageous, brave little girls to read to my daughters before bedtime.  I am also committing to using the word “careful” less often.  As much as it scares me to watch my little girls go down the big slide at the playground, I want to make the effort to model how to do it safely rather than prohibit them from trying in the first place.  I must overcome my fear so that they may overcome theirs.  I must empower them to feel capable so that they look inwardly for reassurance rather than outwardly to me.

There are plenty of parenting books out there, but none specific to your relationship with your particular child.  So much of parenting relies on our ability to be adaptable but more importantly to be self-aware.  To recognize what is “normal” for certain ages coupled with how we approach these phases.  Our responses are likely predisposed based on our past experiences, our childhoods.  What we do with that is ultimately our choice.  Do we continue the pattern or do we become aware of our tendencies and make a positive change for the betterment of our child?

Today I start again.  Today, I commit to empowering Aurora rather than simply reacting to her fears.  Today, I turn over a new leaf.

 

What do I have in common with tennis superstar Rafael Nadal?  I’ll give you a hint- it has nothing to do with my backhand.  It does, however, have something to with his serve.  If you have ever had the uncomfortable experience of Rafael Nadal serve, you know exactly what I am talking about.  Nadal, the tennis champion, is superstitious and ritualistically scratches the side of his nose, needlessly rearranges the shirt on his shoulder, and picks an unidentifiable wedgie before every single serve.

Nadal is just one example of many sports superstars with these seemingly bizarre rituals: Tiger Woods only wears red shirts on Sundays, former baseball player Turk Wendell brushed his teeth between innings, and many NHL players refuse to shave during the playoffs.  The verdict is still out as to whether red shirts, clean teeth, and furry bears led these legends to more wins  but likely statistics didn’t matter much to them and they don’t matter much to me.

Superstitions are an illusion of control and while you may not find me picking wedgies in the checkout line of the grocery store, you may see me kiss my hand and touch the ceiling in my car when I fail to stop in time for a yellow or red light.  This ritual used to be one of the very few that I lived by, that is, until I had three children and lost whatever sense of control I used to have in my life.

Since the arrival of Emma, I have found myself becoming increasingly obsessive about outward trivial matters.  And yet, while I am aware that picking up that tiny piece of paper in the middle of the floor on my way out of my bedroom has zero logical connection to the outcome of the rest of my day, I find myself unable to pass it by without picking it up; sometimes, I will even about-face and return to the offensive object to remove it after my failed effort to ignore its existence.

It bothers me that I feel this way but deep down, I understand its origin.  My children have humbled me beyond expectation.  As a Type A personality, I thrive on order and predicability and my children turned that world upside down.  I cannot force my child to eat, to sleep, to realize that cupcake pajamas are not worn outside of the house and need to be washed at least once a month.  On the contrary, I can straighten that tissue box so that it is flush against the wall and I can add one more ice cube to Aurora’s cup so that it has the same number as Harper’s, unbeknownst to them.

Right now, these are the things that I can control, so it is what my brain focuses on.  And you know what?  As much it bothers me, truly, I know that it is ok.  This is a consequence of my present reality.  This too shall pass as our family settles into a bit more of a predictable routine.  And in the end, picking up that piece of paper or adding that extra ice cube has no more of a negative effect than Nadal’s rear-end grabbing has on anyone watching.  In fact, I think I’ve got Nadal beat.

Did you get that letter I intended to write you?  Did you hear that voicemail I meant to leave on your phone?  Did you taste that meal I wanted to drop off to your family in your time of need?  No, you didn’t.  These days, I can’t seem to get anything done.  They say, “It’s the thought that matters.” Boy, I hope so because, for now, the thought is all I can seem to manage.

Let’s be real.  When it comes to personalities, I’m Type A all the way.  I feel secure when I have a schedule and know what to expect.  Without a plan, I feel chaotic.  And yet here I find myself, the mother of three young children, humbled by the unpredictability of each passing day.  I have learned to adapt out of sheer necessity for survival.  But it’s not in my comfort zone and it stretches me beyond my limit.

I’ll never forget the first time I was humbled in this way.  It was the summer after my 17th birthday.  I spent the month of July in Africa, living with a Ghanaian family, working in an orphanage.  I volunteered with the American Field Service (AFS).  I flew to Ghana with 28 other American teenagers I had just met for the first time, with expectations of “leaving my mark”.  I thought we would build schools.  I thought we would have something palpable to take pictures of- to illustrate the difference we made while we were there.  Halfway through the trip, I broke down.  All we did every single day was play with the orphans.  As much as we tried to teach, there were no books, very limited writing materials and zero structure.  So mostly we held the little ones, played sports with the older ones and sang songs with all of them.

It wasn’t until my last week that I realized our impact could not be seen, rather felt.  There was no building to photograph our completion of nor any test papers to illuminate the academic growth of our students.  How does one measure love? Kindness?  Empathy?  Only through thoughts and actions.

What I started to learn 16 years ago,  I continue to learn today.  Sometimes we cannot do it all.  Sometimes we cannot produce a product that can be seen, heard, or tasted.  Sometimes, it’s just the thought that counts.

And you know what?  Sometimes that’s enough.

It all came to head yesterday, when I broke down and cried on the floor at the end of an intense Stroller Strides workout.  My friends, my “people” flocked around me reassuring me that this too shall pass and it will get better.  And I know it will, I just needed to let it out.

These last couple of weeks have been rough, to say the least.  I’m going on 3 months of continuously interrupted sleep which has made it challenging to recover from this never-ending cold, all whilst tending to my three girls who are suffering the same symptoms.

There’s never a day-off when it comes to parenting and lately, I’ve found myself daydreaming about weekends away with my husband; wishing these early years away so that my girls are old enough to be dropped off at a relative’s house.  Those who have traveled this path before me, remind me to cherish these days because one day, I will miss them.  I take that advice to heart, but it doesn’t necessarily help me to enjoy the daily temper tantrums.

I’ve been thinking;  I think I have fallen victim to allowing my children’s lives to dictate my own.  Anyone with a young child knows you don’t mess with nap time.  It is “the precious”, as Smeagol from The Lord of the Rings would say.  But when you have three children you are attempting to put down for a nap, your life suddenly becomes dictated by this “precious” nap time.  I have found myself canceling playdates with friends because we need to get back for nap, only to battle it out with my older girls, frequently ending in frustration on both of our parts- they don’t end up sleeping; instead, I end up expending precious energy trying to get them to sleep and in the end, we all lose.  These playdates involve my friends and it’s just as important for me to get some time to commiserate with a fellow parent as it is for my girls to interact with their friends.

So, after yesterday’s breakdown, I started today the way I try to begin every day- by turning over a new leaf and starting fresh. Today, I embraced the present.  I had the kids in the car by 8 a.m. and set off to visit some old friends in the neighborhood I grew up in and instead of trying to race home at 11:15, I stayed put.  I brought the kids to the park where I used to play and took them to lunch where I wanted to eat, as opposed to wherever offered chicken nuggets on the kids menu.

Afterwards, we peeked into a local gift shop where, at their delight, they picked out a new toy, followed by cupcakes for them, ice cream for me, and momma’s milk for Emma at the nearby Frozen Yogurt joint.  By the time I had them in the car a little after noon, they were all asleep within minutes.  In the past, I would have tried to either keep them awake or race home with a glimmer of hope that they would transfer (which has about a 2% success rate).  This time, I put the car in park in our garage, and took the opportunity to take a quick snooze myself.

Today, I embraced it.  I dictated our day.  I did what I wanted to do- what brought me (and them!) joy and no one had a tantrum.  I let go of what I may have been able to accomplish in the past when there were just 1 or 2 kids and embraced my life now with three.  I lived for today, rather than in fear of what tomorrow will bring for my girls with only a car nap under their belt.

Because, in the end, that’s all we really know we have for sure.  Today.  So while I will still allow myself to daydream of weekends away with my husband, I won’t wish these days away to get there.  I’ll embrace them, make the most of them, and yes, old souls, I will cherish them.

 

Oh, Aurora Mae.  How have four years already passed?  It seems like yesterday I was anxiously awaiting your arrival, 11 days past your due date.  You were comfortable living inside of me and not much has changed since then.  You love your momma.  You love your daddy and your sisters.  You have a lot of love in that little heart.  And the truth is, I miss you.

Ever since your newest little sister Emma Jane was born, I haven’t had a lot of time to spend with just me and you.  You attend preschool three mornings a week and when you are home I often rely on you to play with your two-year-old sister, Harper.

So on your fourth birthday I am going to make a commitment to find time for us.  You are a sensitive little beauty and I know how much that time would mean to you (and me!).  Until then, let me tell you about YOU at 4 years old:

You are musical.  You are always singing, dancing and playing an instrument, even if what you are playing (a pot, wand, etc.) was not designed as such.You have the most infectious laugh- it spreads like joy through every strand of hair and the tips of your toes and you can’t stop yourself once you get started.

You love to read and you love to imagine.  I am anxious to watch you continue to enjoy these two things in the coming years.  It is so fun to watch you with your sister Harper.

You are friendly.  Although shy at first, you are the type of child that can get along with just about anyone.

You are artistic.  You love to draw, paint, and create.

You love princesses (how could you not, you are named after Sleeping Beauty!) and think yourself one.

You are particular about your clothes but you are happy wearing the same outfit for days on end until it mysteriously vanishes into the laundry pile. . .

You are timid when it comes to trying new things, especially physical things involving movement.

You. Are. Beautiful.  Inside and out.  You are a beauty to behold and I cannot believe your daddy and I created you.

Aurora, I am so lucky to be your mother.  Every night, after nursing Emma, I sneak into your room and take a moment to watch you sleep, in awe of your innocence, your purity.  I get teary-eyed and smile.

I love you sweet baby girl and am soaking up every minute with you.

Happy Birthday.

Special thanks to Dee Akright and Camille Vaughan Photography