Dear mama, you’re doing great

I recently headed to a local park, in search of respite, with a toddler who was on a hunger and sleep strike. I hadn’t slept in multiple nights, my hair was quickly put up, my glasses were smudged with tiny fingerprints and my clothes were whatever was within reach of the piling mountain of laundry. I was in survival mode and it showed. I thought some fresh air and running around might help my tiny human settle a bit and, honestly, I just needed to be somewhere other than my house. 

I collapsed onto a nearby bench while my toddler was temporarily content with some bark nearby. Alone at the park, I felt hopeless. I knew, logically, that this was a season. Just another phase of motherhood. But I still felt like this was never going to end. In my heart, I was the worst mum for not being able to figure this out. How could I get him to sleep? How could I get him to eat? What was I doing wrong? I was so lost in my self-doubt that I didn’t notice two older children run by, racing to get to the playground. 

Another mum sat down at the end of the bench, calling to the two older children to be careful. I shifted my weight and turned my shoulder to her, embarrassed by my appearance. I could feel her looking at me, assessing the situation. My eyes watered from humiliation as I resisted the urge to tell her I didn’t always look this way. 

“How old is he?” She asked quietly as I tried to hide my tears. 

“18 months” I replied, praying my voice didn’t break. 

“I remember that time,” she said. “It was pretty rough for us.” I nodded in agreement, still not able to look at her. “My son would scream all day, every day. And my daughter,” she laughed, “I couldn’t do ANYTHING right at that age.” I turned and looked at her, no longer trying to stop the tears. Her face softened and I saw recognition in her eyes. “It was hard,” she said. 

Exhausted, defeated and now mortified to be crying in front of a stranger, I nodded and said, “Yeah, it is” and then laughed at how ridiculous I must look. 

The other mum smiled. “It’s hard to see now but it gets easier and harder, in different ways, and then, easier again. The cycle goes on and on until they’re grown.” At that, we both laughed. 

When the silence settled on us again, I whispered “thank you” to her. We watched our children—in two different seasons of growth. Her looking back on what they had been through and me, looking forward to how we would get through this. 

Once my toddler decided he was done with the bark, he came teetering towards me. I picked him up and awkwardly said goodbye to this wonderful mum who showed me such kindness. 

I took a few steps and heard her call to me, “In case you haven’t heard it enough lately, you’re doing great mum.” 

Tears rushed down my face again, but I walked back to the car with new energy and a full heart. 

Eventually, my son’s eating and sleeping habits improved. And I felt more like myself again, after a good nap and a long shower. 

The other evening, I took my son back to the same park. I saw a mum standing off to the side rocking a stroller back and forth. I recognized the hastily pulled up hair, the wrinkled clothes and the shrunken stance. More importantly, I recognized the feeling of utter defeat.

“Excuse me,” I said, “How old?” 

“Three months,” the young mum quietly said while nervously combing her fingers through her hair. 

I looked at the baby in the stroller and then said, “I remember that time.” I made it a point to look that new mum in the eye and said the same words that meant the world to me when I was in the same place. “You’re doing great mum.”