A few nights ago, nearing Evie’s bedtime, there was a big collection of clouds in the clear night sky that were producing a ton of heat lightning. I know from following our local meteorologist on Facebook that heat lightning is not real, but my brain refuses to denounce my childhood belief.
Evie saw the clouds and was insisting to watch them. I was busy trying to get her absurdly long list of bedtime essentials together, so I didn’t really look out. At this point in the day, I just wanted to be done. I didn’t want to let her look at the sky. Her younger sister had already laid down about 90 minutes prior and I was looking forward to removing the responsibilities of motherhood so I could finish off my list of to-dos and go to bed myself.
“No,” I told her. “It’s time for bed. You have school tomorrow and you didn’t nap today. You need to get to sleep.”
She fought me on this, strong-willed and demanding as she is. Back and forth we went, her insisting to watch the lightning. But I didn’t budge. It’s just clouds.
We assembled ourselves on my king bed, getting ready for our nighttime routine. I read her a book, held her sippy cup up to my bedside light to make it glow in the dark, gave her a kiss, and tucked her hair behind her ear. Then I went into my dimly lit bathroom to get a quick shower. Normally, by the time I’m out of the shower and dressed in my pajamas, she’s asleep.
Not tonight, of course. As I was getting ready to wash my body, I saw her pad into the bathroom.
“I want to see the lightning, Mommy,” she whined.
Out loud I said, “No Evie, it’s bedtime. Your body needs sleep.” Inside my head, my words were not as kind.
She started crying and complaining more.
I told her she need to go get in bed. She refused. Clothed only in the thoughts of my to-do list, I lifted her up from under her arms and set her back in bed. It was time to fall asleep.
Of course, she didn’t stay there. I was still attempting to get my pajamas on as she got out of the bed and came back into the bathroom. She didn’t ask about the lightning but instead now wanted me to lay with her and scratch her back.
Ah, we’ve moved on to this, I see.
I refused. I couldn’t lay down. I had a list of things to do that I didn’t want to wait until the morning because then I had another list to tackle. This battle between me and her lasted for 10 minutes until I convinced our dog to lay with her in place of me. She doesn’t like falling asleep alone and she will accept the dog as comfort. As I shut the door to my room, I could hear her whines and cries subside after some time.
At first, I felt relief that this might be it. She might actually fall asleep now. I walked away from my room and into the kitchen and began to tackle my domestic chores. As I was cleaning off the counters, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash in the sky.
In the quiet, dark house, I padded over to the windows that face our back yard. The sky was dark – and then – FLASH. The lightning exploded silently; pinks and yellows lightly sketched for a moment on the white puffy clouds. It was beautiful. The stillness of the house. The beauty of the sky and the tree line in our backyard. I enjoyed the moment, but then…
Guilt exploded silently through my heart. As I watched the lightning alone, I felt wrong. This wasn’t right. This isn’t the type of mom I want to be.
I turned away from the window, leaving the kitchen as dirty as I found it, and made my way back to the bedroom. It was silent as I opened the door. Evie was in bed, awake with the dog, and she acknowledged my arrival by turning her head towards the doorway. I went in, shut the door, and walked over to the bed.
Reaching down, I picked her up. She felt heavier than she did earlier when I unsuccessfully laid her there to sleep. “She’s getting big”, I thought to myself. Evie wrapped her arms around my neck. Apologies made to each other through an embrace.
I held her close and together we moved over to the windows. As I pulled open the curtains, the night sky flashed again. And again. And again.
We stood there together. Neither of us saying a word. Me afraid to break the beauty of this moment, and her with one foot in dreamland and the other watching the heat lightning play in night sky.
Evie has been a constant source of frustration and guilt for me over the past year or so. She is a wonderful child. Funny, bright, considerate, creative, loving…. but she is A LOT.
And while I am used to having an “extra” child (aka Scarlett – whom I also love so deeply but she challenges me as well) I just find myself on edge a lot with Evie by the end of each day.
This episode with the heat lightning made me dig into myself and try to figure out why. As I reflected, I came up with two initial reasons which lead me to the core of the problem.
At first, I thought my reasons were two of her sisters – Marina and Gianna.
Marina is just 4 months shy of 2. She is an easy child. She is calm, she naps great and is generally very low maintenance. Right now, she is a joy to be around. The only time she pushes back on me is when she doesn’t want her diaper changed or when I won’t give her a 3rd packet of fruit snacks. She’s just…easy. If you have more than 1 child, you know how this can feel inside because undoubtedly that second child is harder. Having an easy child lets you relax a bit and feel confident in your role as a parent. You can do this!
Gianna, my first born, was also an easy child. Still is. Gianna has a calm nature about her. She is responsible, level-headed, sweet. She has and is easy to be a mom to. I think a part of me feels like, because Evie is older than Marina, like Gianna is older than Scarlett, Evie should also be easy like Gianna.
But then…as I thought more, I uncovered the heart of the matter. I see Marina and Gianna’s easiness and it’s just hard not just wish sometimes…. that Evie needed less from me.
That feels just awful. I want my child to need me less? That’s not right. But that’s the truth of it. If you’ve ever parented a child who needs so much of you, you probably get it. That is why I am being so hard on her. Why I yell when she breaks my rules instead of calmly telling her the consequences. That’s why I flipped out the other night when she wouldn’t lay down by herself for bed after I did ALL THE THINGS SHE NEEDS TO FALL ASLEEP.
I wish she needed less of me because that would be easier.
But being a mom isn’t easy. It’s the most challenging job out there. And I love it. It is my purpose. As I stood in the window in the kitchen watching the sky alone, I realized I need to remember that more often.