Knowing Vs. Feeling
When I had my third baby, the feeling of being done was strong. I knew she would be my last. I knew that fact in a practical sense. Our house would not fit any more children. Our finances could not afford any more children. My husband did not want any more children.
Mentally, I accepted this fact. I steadied myself with blissful logic that would help me believe I wasn’t just settling.
I created a hashtag that cleverly and publicly affirmed that our family was complete. I looked at (and posted) a picture of my three kids on my lap and saw how perfectly they squeezed together on my physical real estate. I felt relieved when I donated the clothes my last baby had outgrown. Not to mention the maternity clothes. Oh, was I happy to donate those.
I was beyond happy as I soaked up and adjusted to being a mom of three. And yet, emotionally, I hadn’t completely come to terms with the fact that I would not have four children. Four children had always been my dream.
I understood dreams were not reality. I had long dreamed of being an actress, but reality stepped in and led me to teach. I can pinpoint the exact moment I realized I wanted to be a teacher. It caught me off guard and filled me with excitement. And purpose.
That’s what I was waiting for. An authentic moment that would make me feel, without question, that I was confident with my choice to have three kids.
Feeling AND Knowing
That moment happened a few days shy of my third baby turning 8 months old. It wasn’t a grand gesture at all. My oldest was at her first Daddy-daughter dance. The baby was sleeping in her crib. My son and I were stretched out on the living room carpet, playing a board game. I suddenly became acutely aware of the pure quiet. It honestly felt like poetry in motion. That’s the only way I can attempt to describe it. I could feel peace coursing through my body. This was the moment of emotional certainty I had awaited.
This quiet, this peace, this balancing of three kids in three different places, all getting what they needed and wanted in real-time, was exhilarating. And so deeply purposeful. It was the feeling of being done.
Until that moment, I hadn’t realized I was longing for quiet. I had never really been comfortable with pure quiet. It made me nervous. It made me feel vulnerable. My bare thoughts spoke too loudly. And so I wanted and created actual noise.
But I had misinterpreted quiet. Quiet is not the complete absence of sound. Quiet is a peaceful state of mind.
When I dreamed of being a mother, I only dreamed of the number of children. On the one hand, I thought about myself too much, dreaming of myself as someone who would have all the means to be a good mother to four kids. On the other hand, I didn’t think about myself at all. I didn’t think about the attention and care I would need to give myself.
Life with three kids is not quiet in terms of volume. The noise that accompanies the logistics of life with three kids is particularly loud. But my dream of four kids, I realize now, would be too much sound for me to handle. I wouldn’t be able to hear the quiet of my mind.
