By Cherie Logan
Christmas
“Oh, look at
that
baby doll! Honey, wouldn’t Katie love her? And this
one...how
can I choose? I know the price has gone up but little girls love
dolls so much. Oh, Katie will be so happy.”
Christmas morning comes and their little angel gets two dolls from mommy and a few more from grandma. Four little babies to cuddle, to talk to, to love. And Katie does love them. They are her babies.
There are many gifts a little girl would like but nothing lasts like the baby doll. The newborn doll wrapped in a tiny blanket. The little girl doll with long tresses. The brother doll, a little bigger and with a slightly less angelic look about him. And Katie loves her babies so much! She lines them up and cuddles up right in the middle. She strips them down and rearranges their clothes. Often she forgets to put the clothes back on. Sometimes she even forgets where she put them. Outside just before the rain storm, under the couch, in the broom closet. Favorite babies are found by her frantic parents and delivered to their tear streaked angel.
Katie’s baby collection grows and each one is precious. Mother sometimes wishes she could sneak a dozen out of the house but unless Katie is sleeping it is impossible. Dad wonders if his footpath will ever be clear again. But their little jewel gathers her imaginary family and for an hour or so every day, Katie’s heart is filled with joy because she is a mother to her precious brood.
As Katie grew she dreamed of babies, lots of them. She baby-sat and pretended for those few hours that the little children were hers. And for those few hours, especially after they went to bed, she did perfectly. Learning that this mothering thing really is easy. She would daydream about what her own babies would look like. Before long she found herself drawn to young men who looked as if they would help that dream come about. And then one man. Then marriage and finally that first miracle of life. It seems that almost overnight Katie’s plan of mothering a large family came to a stop. What happened to the dream?
Babies. Babies happened. One, two, three babies and now, Katie can’t imagine surviving any more!
Babies are a joy, a comfort, a love beyond comprehension. They are also extremely demanding of time and energy. The first baby tends to be the worst! Mother is everything to that little one. His world is Mommy. His food comes from Mommy. His comfort rests in her arms. Life comes to him from the security of his mother’s love and watchful care. For Mother, there is barely a break between all the loving and frustrating moments.
Then that little baby grows and begins an independent exploration of life. Mother sometimes wonders if she can keep up as she moves from one messy disaster to another. Mother is his best friend and constant source of entertainment. Everything. Mother is everything. And she is deeply in love with her child and completely exhausted all in the same moment!
Another baby is placed in her arms and the mother’s fears of loving a second angel as deeply as her first melt away. Pure love flows through her like a flash flood of clear water. Along with that expanded love comes guilt. Tremendous guilt. Her son has to wait while her daughter nurses. He waits while she is changed. He waits while she is quietly put to bed. He has never waited before and mother feels the claws of inadequacy reaching out for her.
Finally a hungry boy is promised dinner. Quick! Fix that meal before...too late...the baby cries. And mother ignores the baby. Just a little. Just enough to feed her hungry first-born. Her first who never had to cry while she filled another child’s needs. Rushing in she gathers up her daughter and collapses into the rocker and knows she is a failure. Guilt. She can never be for two what she was for one.
Somehow Mother had the faith to move past guilt and bring a third baby into the circle of her arms. Love grows. Incredibly and with a depth unimaginable. The need to entertain her two older children has been lessened as they thrive on each other’s company. The guilt is only an occasional whimper as she witnesses her children’s healthy spirits and ability to wait without trauma. In fact, she realizes that they can cry and demand and throw tantrums without even a drop of true trauma. The guilt of not being a perfect mother isn’t the struggle it once was.
A new terror takes over. Mother suddenly realizes that she has more children than she has hands. At the park one wants to go potty while another dashes off to the slide. Baby in arms she grabs the one and pushes the other towards the restroom. In the store she pops one into the cart while the baby rests in the basket carrier and a third holds to the side. But where does she put the groceries for a family of five? And at home two whirlwinds take everything out of the bathroom cabinet while she calms a sleepy baby. More children than hands. She commits to never going anywhere unless Dad can go with them! More children? Are you crazy?
The experience of growing into motherhood shifts after the third baby. For women who continue to hope that life will eventually blossom as fully as their love has and in faith move ahead to a fourth baby something happens. Things calm. Life becomes manageable. Learning becomes a refinement process rather than a test-cramming pressure.
There are always variety in people’s reactions. And many factors effect the process. If the babies are spaced more than three years apart the mother may be stuck on the Do Everything or Guilt Cycle. Having a third baby after a four year gap would mimic a new mother experience in many ways. A mother with twins hits more then one cycle at the same time. When a mother sends her older ones to school she will find herself stuck in an earlier cycle for several hours every day. And working mothers have a different set of patterns based on forced schedules outside of the home. But for the most part, there is a relaxing and familiarity that settles in with the fourth baby.
By the time most women have four children their oldest is between 5 and 7 years old. That alone makes mothering easier. No longer a tiny child, the oldest can do many simple tasks for himself and can learn kindness through service as he makes a sandwich for his siblings. Mother is able to call out and remind him of proper behavior rather than getting up and moving him as she would a younger child. He is very interested in what is right for his siblings to be doing and like a persistent watch dog he is quick to tell Mother when they are doing wrong. From that input she can wisely choose what to ignore as she tends the baby.
As a mother of many she has established a pattern for managing her home. She has probably relaxed on time schedules, allowing life to flow as she meets little crisis throughout the day. Meal plans have moved from being magazine perfect or inapt disasters to pleasant and simple. House cleaning is still a nightmare but with one old enough for chores there is a hope flittering around that everything won’t always seem so pressing.
Everybody has learned to wait. Everybody has learned what patience means. They might not like it but Mother knows they’ll work it out. And they entertain themselves. She teaches them as the moments arise and they rejoice when she is busy, allowing them to play on their own. The oldest one has memorized the stories Mother has read a million times and enjoys sitting with the younger ones and showing off his “reading” skills. Interestingly enough, the younger ones seem to grow faster than the oldest because they insist on relentlessly copying his activities.
Budgeting wants and needs has become second nature. Seeking suggestions from friends a pleasant pastime. And hunting up a safe baby-sitter a vital requirement for that weekly escape with Daddy. And if Mother moves from having four to five or six or ten children, she does it with knowledge and peace.
If it was all good it would have to be a fantasy story. But reality crowds in and mothering a large family has some unique frustrations. Mother finds herself calling one child by another’s name...for years. Next she is constantly counting heads and then having to mentally go through a list of names just to discover why there are too few heads. She prepares dinner for a crowd every night and if she's really clever she'll quadruple the quadrupled recipe so some meals can be frozen. But smart or not, she probably couldn’t fit that many ingredients in her standard sized kitchen!
The dream of a beautiful home is tempered by an endless supply of wall-coloring aged children. Trash cans full of diapers for years without number. Colds and the flu cycle through a large family at a painstakingly slow pace and when finished with the last person the germ has altered just enough to start a new attack. Simple routines such as bedtime have to be altered to meet the needs of teens, children and toddlers. The circle of family friends can number in the hundreds.
One
computer isn’t
enough. One freezer isn’t enough. One pressure cooker or
slow
cooker isn’t enough. Two dishwashers would be nice as would a
family
room full of couches rather than individual
recliners.
Bikes in the yard
probably
number
six. Working bikes in the yard is probably only one.
Clothes
go from being beautiful and gently-used to rags and over-used too
quickly.
Shoes by the door number 20 and coats not hung in the closet might
number
10. Even if she only has five children!
Pens can never be found. Telephone calls get sent through several hands before reaching the desired connection. It takes more time to get out the door and less time enjoy a clutter-free room. And everything is louder. The TV. The Conversation. The whining. Mother's whining. By the time she has answered the same question nine times in three seconds she can't help but whine a little.
But most mothers of many will say it is easier than with one, two or three children. Easier? With all those endless problems? Years and years of the same problems brought on by years and years of children growing up? Yes. Easier because something inside the mother changed. Her perception, her confidence, and her skills in her chosen life. And a foggy blindness and selective deafness doesn’t hurt!
Not all mothers will want a van full of children. But all mothers can benefit from those who have already walked the road. Talk. Write. Chat. Read. Learn what others have struggled over and conquered. Never assume that others were Natural Born Mothers. Little girls who played with pretty little dolls still need to grow up and discover real life as mothers.
Focus on relaxing as early in mothering as possible. Keep a long view of life. Start out as mostly mother and a little bit friend and over the many years slowly switch to a little bit mother and mostly friend. Establish patterns for the future. Plan on someday becoming a manager of the home instead of its only worker.
There is usually time over the years to do everything not currently vital. But a mother has only now to really love and enjoy the moment. Time to read to her children, hold them and become comfortable being firm with them. Be their mother. And cherish their sleeping hours!
Katie’s son brings a tray of food just for her. A glass of milk, a glass of orange juice, a glass of chocolate milk, a glass of water and a couple of last night’s cookies crowd out the plate of toast and eggs. No matter that Katie hates eggs, her heart is filled. Her little girls sneak in behind Brother and hand her their card. Daddy had helped them but they did most of the work in pasting a cute little picture and signing their names. Daddy grabs the tray so the glasses won’t spill as the children climb into Mom’s bed and snuggle close. His eyes meet hers and joy flows between the two of them. Katie hugs her children and whispers that a baby will be coming soon. To her children, soon means tomorrow and immediately they begin to argue about who will get to hold him first. To Katie it means an increase in work and joy, an outpouring of responsibility and love. She’s ready for one more. Only one more for now. Maybe after that, just maybe...the dream will awaken again, someday, maybe.
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chaotic life with children really is and how priceless the
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