Momming

Rock-a-Bye

Every night I tuck my boys into bed I get to know them just a little better. After a long day of give-give-give, the act (and art) of tucking them in refills my soul.

At the end of a long, long day when I am exhausted and mentally and physically drained, tucking in these three young boys sounds so laborious. You may think that’s silly; throw some covers over them, kiss them, and get out of there. But, they each have their own little bedtime routine that deserves to be honored. If I always passed it off, I would miss out on all of their untold stories, their newest skills, and their few moments of sweetness.

Henry wants what every baby wants: some warm milk and quick cuddles. After he guzzles his milk down, I set the cup aside. I cradle him close to my face and I sing him my favorite song. He usually smiles from time to time and reaches up to touch my face. This turns into a game and he ends up giggling. I know my time with him like this will end all too soon, but I finally carry him up to his crib. He makes little noises in his throat that sound like the song I sang to him and he kicks his leg a few times to a rhythm along the way. Before I close the door, he pops up to catch my eye one more time and we both smile.

Jimmy likes to hit me with some kind of poignant question as he crawls into bed. “Will I die?” “Yes but not for a long, long, loooooooong time. That’s not something a six year old needs to worry about.” So then he asks, “What if a bear gets into our house?”  “Has a bear ever broken into our house?” “No. Is this a safe house?” “Yes, Daddy found us the safest home.” After I’ve squashed every worry on his mind for him, I tell him my usual, “You are kind, smart, and so important to me.” I touch his heart, his forehead, and his shoulder as I go along. Then I grab his upper arm muscle and say, “And you are very brave. And if you are brave?” “I am not afraid,” he whispers…. As I exit, I give him a thumbs up and blow him a kiss and I know that whole exchange was just me talking to myself.

But as for my Gabe, we literally have a nightly song and dance routine that takes some energy! There are three songs, my nightly phrase, and his request for more cuddles. 

“Will you sing Rock-a-Bye Gabey?” And he invites me to caress his boney little arms. 

The funny thing about this ritual is it cues a lengthy inner dialogue and completely changes me in four short lines, every time. 

“Rock-a-Bye Gabey on the tree top…” Gabe’s eyes start to flutter and I take great pride in being able to comfort him. But then a wave of worry washes over me. Wait! How can I comfort him when I’m feeling so (fill in the blank, depending on the day) (ill-equipped, anxious, worried, bothered, angry, strained). 

“When the wind blows, your cradle may rock.” When did I become the mother? Many times during the day, week, his short four years I have been so scared. Can I be both an anxious woman and a comforting mother to this boy? If I am anxious, does that make things worse for him?

“When the bough breaks, your cradle will fall.” I may not have recognized my anxieties throughout my life until my 30s. As a child, I was afraid of wind storms. As a teenager, I was worried about being unworthy. As a young adult, I was finding my own voice. And now as a mother of three young boys, I am finding that I am much stronger than I ever believed. I am doing it all without finesse, but I am doing it. If nothing else, caring for these little monsters has allowed me to focus on what matters most instead of dwelling in the worries of my mind.  

“But Mommy will catch you, cradle and all.” Does he call my bluff when I gulp through this line? Or does he believe me; I would do anything for him. I will set aside my many insecurities. I will swallow my anxieties. I will muffle my worries so I can be strong for him; he is a gift to my life. Damn right I’ll catch any of my little men with my cat-like reflexes when they fall. I am a freaking mom-beast.

Finally, I tell him, “You are kind, smart, and so important to me. And you are so respectful when you turn those listening ears ‘on’…..” I pause my phrase and caress his ear and he gives me the side-eye, ready for my next move when I always give him a really good tickle. “But you are my silly boy! And, I love you so.” “Can you stay here and cuddle with me?”  You know I do…

Calling my anxiety what it was and working through it has been a great teacher for me. Before motherhood, I never slowed down long enough to name it. No one around me named it or openly spoke of their fears while I was growing up. But those little boogers… they talk about what they’re worried about all of the time! Every second I am talking them through their young life’s’ concerns…. and it’s like I am holding a mirror up and talking to my self. 

I walk away from marathons of mom-splaining and I’m like wait, who was the one who needed the help?

These little dudes need me. I never knew it before they were here, but I needed them so badly, too.

I’ve said over and over that my boys have broken me, and while that is true, their wild ways and deep, deep love continue to heal me, daily. I am so glad they ask me the tough questions and I share with them, honestly. I remove my guard and I allow them to know that I struggle too. Together, we pick up our cradles and we shoulder them. Will mommy always catch them? 

Cue Bob Marley: “Don’t you worry about a thing because every little thing is gonna be alright now.”