Compassion

 Yesterday, while I attempted to take a soul-warming shower (you know the kind: water hot as lava, the good body scrub, shave the legs... stare into the abyss), Violet came in like a wrecking ball and proceeded to bang on that door like she was being carried away by demons. Rest assured friends, she simply needed to go potty. In my potty. And definitely not in the available potty just one door down. She screamed. She cried. She thoroughly tested those lungs and they are healthy. 

I didn’t open the door; I had the foresight to lock it, thankfully. Instead, I had a quick flash of when Ryan first died and the girls couldn’t lose their direct line of sight of me without spiraling and I get it. Those days were so hard, I would cry because I was touched out by 9am. Someone old me back then “It’ll get better and one day, you’ll look back and it won’t be so hard.” Kind of like those long days of the infancy stage but with two kids who were definitely not infants, but had similar needs.

I stood my ground because they were both okay; I was certain I had locked the door and no demons could truthfully be there hauling Violet away to hell. I was busy pouring into my cup so that I could emerge from the bathroom somewhat ready to return to pouring into theirs. For a moment, while the deep conditioner did its thing (see: stare into the abyss), I realized I understood the mamas who leave their young children and go out. That complete loss of self and self-identity to the point where you long for your life before children, before you simply became “mama.” Now, I am fortunate to have been aware of my postpartum depression tendencies and was monitored closely after Violet’s birth but with Charlotte? I knew all the right answers to those silly little questionnaires and I was bound and determined not to fail those! Yep, I am fully aware of how stupid that sounds. But as an early childhood professional, I really felt like I should know everything and guess what!? I know nothing about nothing. 

My dearest online reader, please know that one can never know anything about their baby, their parenting style, their temperament match to their child, etc. until that child is here. And then it all hits the ceiling and we hope it works out. 

I would never (never) leave my kids alone to go out and party; I don’t even party. But I can absolutely understand the mama who felt like she had no choice - she was losing her identity to her motherhood and needed to escape. We all have those fantasies I’m sure, but I am certain that my life is infinitely better because these two babies are mine to love on and raise. Just because you didn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t, doesn’t mean that you can’t understand why someone did. I wonder what life would be like if we got over trying to be better than everyone and just did our own thing. Government is cool, but have you ever wondered what it might be like to make your own decision about your body and its functions? 

Anyway, the showered ended and I had to go console a still hysterical Violet, who, by the way, had not gone to the other bathroom which told me immediately she didn’t even have to go. Little turkey. She went potty in my bathroom and we hugged, I took her downstairs and we played in the living room. Life goes on. This too shall pass. It’s so cliche but it’s so very true.

Have a day,

Danie

This post was originally published on Substack.