Five. Three. Three months.
Five. Three. Three months.
I said those numbers countless times whenever anyone said, “Wow, you have your hands full” or “Are they all yours? How old are they?”
Those numbers define a chapter in my life when I was breathing in the scent of an infant, the wonder of a toddler, and the eye-opening world of a new kindergartener. A chapter in my life defined by days and nights bursting at the seams with activity — feeding, changing diapers, reading, playing, doing arts and crafts, soothing fears, working a corporate job with a 45-minute commute, seeing family, writing grocery lists, planning parties, managing a household, being a wife, holding onto friendships while building new ones, all the while answering to cries and “Mom Mom Mom Mom” endlessly, desperately seeking cuddles and doing my best to truly be in the moment, without remembering to take a breath.
That chapter taught me what we mean by “the mental load of motherhood” and how taxing it truly can be. How you can be everything but feel you’re not enough, how you can do everything and feel like you should do more, how you can love so fully and wonder if they feel it, and how your mind can carry so much in it that you eventually feel you really may burst, so you ask for help but realize some things you simply need to do your own way.
Five. Three. Three months.
I was navigating a new era as a mom of three boys, a much more confident & comfortable mom the third time around, but working out lots of logistical kinks. Mom-math rings true — one child is one, two is five, and three is exponentially more. Suddenly you need a bigger car and five sets of hands and even more mind-space and the ability to attend to three kids’ very different needs at once, not to mention your own.
It was the longest chapter, and yet so short. So many memories made. So many new experiences for all of us. So much fun. So many tears. So much love. So many exhausting days and nights that sometimes I wished them away all the while knowing I’d someday wish for them back.
I remember thinking that someday, the “Five, Three, Three months” era would be over. I’d have new numbers to say, and new worries, experiences, and joys to go with them.
Ten. Eight. Five.
Ten. Eight. Five.
A chapter of change. Baby faces turned into double-digit aged kids having sleepovers, 2nd graders dreaming of being a famous sports stars, and that final baby heading off to kindergarten, truly marking the end of an era. We drove past playgrounds and nobody begged me to stop. Schedules got busier with kids’ activities and homework and life. And my brain and days and nights and heart were still bursting at the seams, thinking of today, of days passed, and of tomorrow.
I wasn’t sure how we’d gotten to that chapter so fast. It was new territory, but familiar all the same — so many memories made. So many new experiences for all of us. So much fun. So many tears. So much love. So many exhausting days and nights that sometimes I wished them away all the while knowing I’d someday wish for them back. I remember thinking how far and how close a new chapter would be, like Fifteen, Thirteen, Ten.
“How old are your boys now? They must be getting so big!”
Fifteen. Thirteen. Ten.
Here we are — Fifteen. Thirteen. Ten. Assuming they all leave home to head to college or work around age 18, I have fewer years left of them under my roof than I’ve had of their entire lives up to this point. That’s the new mom-math — Three years left, five years left, eight years left. For my heart, it will never be enough.
That’s part of the mental load of motherhood we don’t talk about much. It’s not just the daily exhaustion and constant (yes, truly constant, perpetual, endless) thinking of all the things. It’s the realization that these humans, true extensions of our heart and body and soul, are going to grow up, spread their wings, and fly, and that we need to do everything we can to get them ready for that, even if we’re never going to be quite ready ourselves to let them go. It’s hard. It’s wonderful. It’s beautiful. It’s heart-wrenching. It’s exciting. It’s uncomfortable. It’s hopeful. It’s terrifying. It’s overwhelming. It’s prideful. It’s emotional. It’s raw. It’s real. It’s amazing.
A new chapter of numbers will be here before I know it. It will bring kids taller than me, deeper voices, new and different struggles and exciting new adventures. No matter the numbers, I’m pretty sure I’ll describe each chapter the same way. I love motherhood and the eternal hold it has on my heart, and if sometimes I just need to take a moment to breathe it all in, so be it.
Cheers to this chapter, and the next and the next.
