Captivity

I feel trapped by my children. There, I said it. I long for the days when I could go to the store on my own. I don't miss going out with my friends for a beer near as much as I miss going to the gas station on my own and being able to walk in and get a soda. Some days are just a steady stream of crying. When my 2 month old stops crying, my 18 month old decides its his turn. The only break from that is when they cry together, and let me tell you, that is truly agonizing.

The most helpless I feel is when we are driving in the car. How do you discipline a year and a half year old? It is more of a punishment to me to pull over somewhere, get him out of his car seat, spank him, put him back in his car seat, and get back on the road. How do you console a tiny baby who just wants to be held? This only makes the 18month old just as upset b/c the crying can be so . . . so . . .well, like my husband and I say, she sounds like a witch being boiled in oil when she cries. How would you feel?

Changing diapers is more frequent than breathing. I feel like I could qualify for the Olympic sport of diaper changing--both in amount and speed! It is easier to give my son 2-3 showers a day than it is to clean him up after he is done eating yogurt, or BBQ sauce, or on those special days, both!

Captivity is a funny thing. When you are the one being held, you long for freedom, but once you are free, you long for the security of captivity. Look at our founding fathers. They demanded freedom from the British, a "captivity" that was smothering their liberties. Once we achieved that coveted break from bondage, we established rules that must be followed lest we face consequences. Isn't that another form of captivity?

Perhaps not. Perhaps before my children, I was a slave--a slave to my own selfish desires. I lived my life with the most important person being me. Perhaps I was a slave to myself for so long, that freedom looked like captivity.

I think of my son rocking gently in my arms. I think of his newest trick of trying to look like he is sleeping while slyly peeking out under his beautiful lashes with a large grin on his face. I think of his attempt at magic tricks, the new words he learns every day, his ability to work the DVD player to watch the only movie he cares about--Cars. I melt when he gives his most wonderful kisses and when he tries to console his sister.

I think of my daughter smiling like she won the lottery when someone coos at her. I think of her craddled, softly in my arms as she naps contently. I think of her little voice trying to mimic my every word. I remember carrying her in my womb every time she draws her feet up to her stomach. I unabashedly give her kisses sleeping, awake, crying . . .

What a beautiful way to be set free! I am free from myself to serve a greater purpose--being a mother.