Welcome to my Perspectives Series, where I host a guest blogger whose perspective differs from my own. While we share a passion for our families and for writing, our priorities, responsibilities and situations are not the same. And it’s the differences I’d like to highlight here, because let’s face it, the world is more interesting that way.
Today I am excited to share my space with Stacia, one of my favorite bloggers, who has the amazing ability to make her readers smile, gasp, think, cry, laugh and swoon – sometimes, all in one post! She has been an inspiration to me from very early on in my journey in the blogosphere, and I am honored to have her here. Recently, on Mother’s Day nonetheless, she gave birth to her third baby, and if you can’t imagine what that’s like, you don’t have to; she’ll tell you in her own words, peppered with humor, grace and humility.
Please help me welcome her – leave a comment and take some time to visit her site. I assure you, it will be a trip you won’t likely forget.
The Tipping Point
by Stacia @ Fluffy Bunnies
In business, it's the small yet profound moment when momentum shifts and a significant change occurs. It's when the video goes viral, the rock star says she likes those shoes, or the kids on the playground want those bracelets.
In motherhood, there's also a tipping point. For me — a stay-at-home mom of three — it's the moment I realized it was harder to be home with my newborn than it was to venture out. When I gathered up burp cloths, bottles, and sundry rattling toys and decided to leave the house. Because I couldn't stay there one more minute.
I've reached this tipping point at crucial, yet distinct, moments with each addition to my brood.
With my oldest, it was eight weeks into my new full-time job as mother to a small, helpless, sleepless creature. I was trying to manage a slow return to my other job (the paying one) by working at home a few hours a day. I was barely getting four hours of shuteye a night. I was addicted to daytime television because I craved adult voices, even if they talked incessantly about dishes I would never cook, movies I would never see, and clothes I would never fit into again.
One November morning, as Regis and Kelly spun the Prize Wheel yet again, I sat in bed and cried. I had made plans to take my daughter to work and introduce her to my colleagues. But the thought of trying to shower and dress and eat and get the baby ready and remember what to put in the diaper bag was overwhelming. All I wanted to do was lie there.
And it hit me, right between my unwaxed eyebrows. I had to get out of my house. No matter how hard it would be, no matter how tired I was, no matter that she would probably poop on her outfit in the car. I had to get out. My tipping point.
When my son joined us, a mere 14 months after my daughter (oops!), my tipping point came again at the two-month mark. I was sitting on the couch watching You've Got Mail for the tenth time in three days. I was shoveling peanut M&Ms into my mouth like a toddler on Halloween. And I was literally watching the minutes tick by on the clock, willing them to speed up so that it would be naptime and I could escape into the silence.
I had to get out of my house. My tipping point.
Just last week, I hit the tipping point with my third child, who arrived in May. We had watched the entire PBS morning line-up. My newborn had barfed all over the couch. My middle child had, shall we say, soiled his Thomas the Train underpants. My oldest had scaled the gate blocking the stairs and ransacked her room. I had been wearing the same clothes for three days. My tipping point.
I had to get out of my house.
And so I did. Each time I reached that tipping point, I packed the diaper bag and packed the kid(s). I shoved a hat on my head and told myself it had to be better out there. Where people were ordering lattes and shopping for cantaloupe and chit-chatting with the mailman. Where they were turning in library books and turning up the radio. Where they were living, instead of being.
And when I tipped? Life did, too.
In my favor.
Do you remember when you reached your tipping point? How was it different with one, two, three, more kids? And did you, too, pass time at home with a peanut M&M addiction??