We are lambing full swing here on the farm and have a lot of first timers. I watch them as they try to assimilate what has just happened and what must happen next. I feel a connection to them. I understand. I feel a bit confused by my new mothering role myself. It’s whole new ballgame and it feels as if none of us know the rules….
Another therapy session. I pour out my heart.
The kinder I am the more he escalates. The more I offer love, the more he rejects. I am exhausted.
“Do you have some days that you are able to wake up and not dread what is going to happen?” she asks. “Some days” I answer. But not most days…
We talk of training and affirmation and hope. And somewhere in the midst of the words I realize:
Sometimes we take on too much…
Every mistake, every failure is not a direct result of flawed parenting. Sometimes no matter how much I love they will still hit the dog. They will still spit. They will still tell me that they do not like me. Some days I will do it all right and it will still go all wrong.
Moms are a funny bunch aren’t we? Sometimes the beautiful wiring that makes us loving and nurturing gets a little crossed and we believe it all depends on us. We begin to believe that the choice to do what is right is ours alone. That every failure must be laid at our feet.
I look at the new moms staring at that wriggling mass and I understand.
This rebirth is no less bloody than if you had come from my own body…
and it is no less beautiful.
Some things in life are out of our control.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.
The courage to change the things and I can.
And the wisdom to know the difference.