Both/And

parenthood as a masterclass on managing extremes – and learning to understand the contradictory fullness of simplicity

Both/And

Life is simple now. 

Fewer ‘big adventures,’

More quiet afternoons at home. 

And yet, our life is full – bursting, really.

We are pulled to extremes more often, 

Illuminating the endless simple joys. 

Contentment with the everyday – 

A daily grind that has begun to feel less grinding. 

Leaning into rhythms at home, 

Community that is out our front door, 

And redefining adventure for this season.

It’s all wonderful.

And yet, I think about the old version of me.

Much like an old friend you haven’t seen in a while, 

I wonder what she’s up to. 

What would her life look like

If she were still around? 

Would she recognize me? 

She yearned for this life – 

But didn’t understand the layers of transformation. 

She didn’t know the depths of sacrifice required, 

Or the corresponding capacity for joy. 

Moving through the portal to motherhood

Must have included an entire catalog of new feelings

And an expansion of extremes. 

All of the pendulums swing much more widely.

Problems defy logic and all are unique;

There are no patterns with toddlers. 

Heart bursting joy

Swiftly followed by extreme exasperation, 

Confusion and frustration. 

Screams immediately followed by giggles – 

Have you heard a baby giggle? 

It is an indescribable drug.

Enough to get you through the next wave of big feelings.

I love my daughter

And this is so hard. 

What did I get myself into? 

And I can’t imagine life without her. 

It’s all true – both/and.

Everything at the same time. 

I’m still learning how that’s even possible

And know there are more layers to come. 

How else will life expand and multiply

When we are already fit to burst with it all?

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One morning last week, I experienced a moment of visceral loss when my daughter giggled — one of those nostalgic-for-the-present times when I realized that she is not going to giggle like that forever. I wanted time to stand still, for it to keep happening, to capture it with a video, and also be fully present to savor the experience in real-time.

Moments later, she started screaming. Since we are not yet fluent in her toddler-babble language, all vocal eruptions require quick thinking and rapid problem-solving to resolve. Are you hungry? Hot? Cold? Want to walk? Want to be carried? Tired? AHHHHHHHHHHHH. After a few minutes – that felt like an eternity – she fell asleep on my shoulder, as I was rocking and humming to music. Feeling her weight in my arms, knowing that to have fallen asleep so quickly and completely meant she felt safe and loved, I was right back to feeling nostalgic for the present. 

I cannot describe to you the heart-swelling joy of hearing your own child giggle or the comforting heaviness of their cuddles. I also cannot adequately describe the ALL SYSTEMS ALERT that engages when they are upset or pushing boundaries. The mental whiplash is constant and outrageous.

I love her so much. And I am pulled to my edges so many times in a single day - edges I didn’t know I could reach. I am living these extremes – ecstatic joy, overwhelming panic, calm stillness, mindnumbing boredom - on repeat each hour.  I am exhausted in ways I’m too overwhelmed to articulate.

Our days are wonderfully full and at the end of them, I collapse into bed mostly glad about how we spent our time. We play, go on lots of walks, read books, explore – we spend lots of time together. It is simple and sweet and I love it.

But then someone will ask me, “What’s new?” or “What have you all been up to?” and it suddenly feels lacking. I begin to think about what we are not doing with our days and what I do miss from pre-kid life. Because sure, there are some things I miss! And I truly love the simple fullness of what this season hold – both are true. I’m not great at holding two conflicting truths but with repeated practice, I think I’m learning. 

Today

At 3am this morning, I was lying on the floor next to the baby’s crib. She’s sick and was having trouble going back to sleep. My neck was stiff, my left arm was falling asleep, and my toes were chilly sticking out of the blanket I haphazardly threw over myself. I was exhausted, frustrated, and just wanted to go to sleep – even there, on the floor. 

I reached my hand up through the crib slats and almost immediately, she clutched at my finger. After an initial excited babble, she fell asleep holding my hand. 

Right now, 12 hours later, my neck is still stiff and I have a headache from the combination of too little sleep and too much caffeine and I got teary-eyed reliving that vignette as I typed - I am so glad to have experienced that tender moment with my daughter. What a gift to be her safe space, to be able to sacrifice my own comfort so that she can sleep when she’s sick. And also, I would really love to sleep uninterrupted for 12 hours in my bed. 

Both/and.

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Hi! I’m Liz. Thanks for being here and reading my journals on the journey. If you’re new, learn a bit more about me and this space here and consider subscribing to my weeklyish posts with the button above.

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