I haven’t written in a while because I have been going through what I have dubbed my Third-Life Crisis. I am too old to be Quarter Life (unless I live to be 120, which I am really not up for) and hoping I am way too young for Mid-Life. So here we are. I spent an hour googling adoption blogs the other day looking for someone who has adopted a preschooler and had a hard time. I have come to the conclusion that either there are very few people who adopt preschoolers in the US or the majority of them are having such a hard time that they do not even bother to set up a blog to proclaim their difficulties. So I have decided it is my duty to say what I wanted so desperately to hear from someone else:
THIS IS HARD! Going from 29 years of independence, being in control of my own schedule and not having a constant current of “Why, mommy?” flowing from the backseat to…well, the opposite of all of that, is a BIG deal. It IS hard! I love my child. I would not choose any other way, but just to reiterate, this is HARD!
But it is not even about the actual change in activities. It seems to be something more. I feel as if I have spent the last two weeks in a boxing ring. The lineup has looked something like this: In this corner, we have SelfLESS, determined to live a life poured out in service to others, wanting nothing more than to spend every possible moment showering love on my child and desiring to be like the old woman in the shoe…..but younger and with foster children.
And in this corner, we have Independent Me. IM has never done well being limited in what she can do and has always valued freedom and independence above all else. Period.
So the fight has ensued. As a Christian, I have always been okay with the idea of “dying to self,” and letting God lead my life down His path for His glory. Less of me and more of Him…that’s beautiful, right? But “dying to self” for a 4 year old? Less of me and more of…a 4 year old?!
I always said (Warning: here comes a load of imaginary wisdom from someone who clearly never had kids…) that I would keep my identity when I had kids. I would still work, run and do the things I enjoy. I am happy to say that I have, just in a different way. For example, I have worked and/or gone to school since I was 14 years old in a combination that has always equaled at least 50 hours per week, and now I work a mere 25. Many of my beloved afternoon runs in the park are now done on a treadmill during nap time. And time with friends is often spent in a restaurant with a kid’s menu instead of the wonderful new vegetarian restaurant I really wanted to try. In light of all of this, I think that any parent would agree that if you are really going to care for another human being, be devoted to meet their every need, and love them with all that you have, part of you just has to go. No matter how hard that is.
As I see Round 10 in the battle for my identity coming to a close, I notice that my hair is the same color and length and I have no new tattoos or piercings. To me, this means that I am no longer 19 years old and able to solve these battles for “me” with a quick fix. Instead, I need a more long term solution. So, I believe that I will probably go back to work full-time in a few months. I feel that surge of the infamous “mommy guilt” even as I type this, but I know that I am just not meant to be at home this much. And I love my little redhead enough to know that if I don’t, he will probably end up an only child with a crazy mother. And that is way worse that a couple of hours a day with a babysitter!
So there. That is what I wanted to read last week, that THIS IS HARD! And that it gets better when the fight is over and you are able to radically accept losing a small piece of yourself in exchange for the immeasurable joy of loving someone else.
