The Weekend Recovery Program

Last week was a little rough. From the pounding headache and queasy stomach of Sunday morning to a few dramatic episodes at work, I was more than ready for a little time off to settle my soul. 

A very young baby demands a lot of time and attention. Two small babies require twice as much, and even if I can settle myself into position to feed two hungry infants at the same time, it is quite literally impossible to hold three bottles at once. It is also impossible to clean up mammoth puddles of spit up without sending the feeding infants into squalling fits when their bottles, and their bodies, are no longer in feeding position. I have four infants daily and though our routine is somewhat established, it is still a work in progress. 

Thursday was picture day and it totally threw me for a loop... I literally felt myself start to twitch. Not sure that's ever happened before. I'd already asked for help with my babies several times, but either no one was listening or no one cared, and then I was chided for having "an attitude." Honestly, I'm not sure how I kept from spontaneously combusting. Thankfully, this does not happen on a regular basis.

Friday I was given some relief from the Infant Room and provided lunch breaks for coworkers. I went outside with the Older Toddlers, took my own break, sat with sleeping Younger Toddlers, sat for an hour with the infants, and finally went back to the older toddler room. The day provided several opportunities to interact with my previous infants who are now "waddlers" in the Young Toddler room. Occasionally one of our new teachers likes to steer them away from me, preventing any interaction. No hugs, just tears from the little ones I spent eleven months loving and nurturing. I have no intention of interrupting class activities, but neither do I intend to send my little girls the message that they don't matter, that I've traded them in or abandoned them, or that I don't love them anymore. When they see me and ask for a hug, whether that be with newly found words (Bennett says "hug,") or tears (that's Mara), I will be there to hug them, kiss their foreheads and tell them I love them. How can I not? (I had a slight altercation with said new teacher. Ugh.)

Life has dished up some mighty fine dishes of drama these past few years. I went home from work in tears on Friday, partly from the altercation and partly from something else deep within my own heart and soul. If dealing with our own childhood pain is necessary to healing, then I have some work to do loving the infant, toddler Martha within. I'm not entirely certain how that is accomplished. 

My grown up heart and mind knows I was loved. It knows my parents were embroiled in a heart wrenching trial even before my arrival. As a mom I understand how difficult it can be to meet the emotional needs of every child all the time. I'm not angry and there is no blame, but there remains a pain inside I can't yet name or soothe. I am on a journey to comfort the infant/very small child I used to be. She needs a hug, a kiss on the forehead, and a reminder that she has always been and always will be loved.

Oh, yes! The weekend. My lovely Bethany and I took four children to find the fairy houses and feed the birds at Mendon Ponds. Hannah and Sergio were gone to a wedding and I had the boys for the day. Today my friend Laura and I went out for breakfast after church, and then we drove down to Naples, NY to look in a few shops and buy a grape pie. Both days were lovely.