Today was a day of hard work, writing, cleaning, organizing, writing some more and we are both tired from the effort. It is satisfying, though, to look around and see the fruits of our labors, clean kitchen, completed paper, etc. I have been thinking lately that it is rare for me to stop and acknowledge the strength and growth that have come from all this hard work from the past two years. I have noticed that I am a lot stronger since becoming a mother. There is, of course, the ability to do more on less sleep. I used to feel sick if I got less than 6 hours in a row and Stacey would actually get strep if she had less than eight. Then there are small, weird things like the fact that I can deal with a deep tissue massage. Before parenthood I found them traumatic and excrutiating and now I have one every several weeks to help my plantar fasciaitis and I find the amount of digging into my tissue that I can stand and still maintain a level of relaxation is quite impressive. There is the gain of upper body strength. It is always amazing to me to watch mothers sling their kids around and I am definitely one of them, wielding my 25 pound daughter down steep stairs with bags and a stroller.
And on a deeper level, my level of patience has grown immensely. I have bounced and jiggled and sung to my daughter for literally hours on end as she cried. I have read the same book over and over all day until she had it memorized and could do it herself. I have dug deep to find love and enthusiasm when I am so tired I feel I could drop or so bored I just want to scream. I have bravely faced the crawling-out-of-your-skin-feeling of oh my god I just need to make it to bedtime and I have 4 hours and 23.5 minutes to go. I have faced the isolation and loss of identity that comes with being a mother, a stay-at-home mother, and a foreigner in this country and haven't been carted off to the insane asylum. Pretty impressive if I do say so myself. And the reward, of course, is the amazing, glowing 2-year old who puts her little hands on my face and says Mama in that very special way that is full of love and admiration. It melts me every time. Ahh, the satisfaction of hard work.
And on a deeper level, my level of patience has grown immensely. I have bounced and jiggled and sung to my daughter for literally hours on end as she cried. I have read the same book over and over all day until she had it memorized and could do it herself. I have dug deep to find love and enthusiasm when I am so tired I feel I could drop or so bored I just want to scream. I have bravely faced the crawling-out-of-your-skin-feeling of oh my god I just need to make it to bedtime and I have 4 hours and 23.5 minutes to go. I have faced the isolation and loss of identity that comes with being a mother, a stay-at-home mother, and a foreigner in this country and haven't been carted off to the insane asylum. Pretty impressive if I do say so myself. And the reward, of course, is the amazing, glowing 2-year old who puts her little hands on my face and says Mama in that very special way that is full of love and admiration. It melts me every time. Ahh, the satisfaction of hard work.
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