How Frustration Became a Teacher: Reflections from Motherhood

It was about 9pm, and I was lying in the dark with Elodie (our 3 month old) in bed. I’d been in there with her for about an hour, helping her settle each time she stirred, and she was just beginning to fall into a deeper sleep.

I heard the door open and saw a faint light spill through as Bryce crept in quietly.
“Maeve is asking for you to lie with her,” (our 4 year old) he whispered.

So we did the old switcheroo, and I went into the other room and lay with Maeve.

She snuggled in close, and I stroked her hair as I sang her our special song.

The words are from a book we were gifted by my sister-in-law at Maeve’s baby shower. Every friend or family member who attended wrote a personal message on the pages. And when she was a baby, we began singing the words in a soft melody… and over time, it became her bedtime song.

It starts with:
“Welcome baby to this world
Lashes long and fingers curled
Dreaming stories for our years
Whispered words to tiny ears”

For the next half hour, she tossed and turned, trying her best to fall asleep.

I often try to take deep breaths when I lie with the girls, so they can “borrow my calm.”

But my mind started drifting to everything I still wanted to get done that night.

The kombucha starter I wanted to pour into my new decanter so it could ferment.
The toys and bits in the lounge I wanted to put away so the house felt reset for tomorrow.
The Christmas present that had arrived for Maeve that I wanted to wrap while she slept.
The nightly check-in with Bryce I wanted to have.
The cup of tea I wanted to make, and the book I wanted to sit down with on the couch before bed.

I noticed my breath had shortened, and how quickly my mind was racing… so I returned to taking slow, deep breaths.

And as I did, I came back to the present moment.
I soon heard Maeve’s breathing change, signalling she had finally drifted off. So I did the classic mum-ninja-roll out of bed and quietly snuck out of the room, fully intending to skip the to-do list and go straight for the cup of tea and book.

Then I heard Maeve cry out.
“Dammit,” I said, sighing as I stepped back into the dark room and lay with her again.

I felt the resentment and frustration rise as I settled back in beside her.

And once again, I noticed my shortened breath and racing thoughts.

And once again, I did my best to return to the present moment.

I felt my big girl snuggled into me, and I wrapped my arms around her a little tighter

“There is nowhere else I need to be right now,” I told myself.
“There will be a time when she won’t ask for this anymore… and I know I’ll miss it.”

I thought about her bedtime song, and how small she was when we first began singing it to her.

And now how long she felt as she lay in my arms.

I wondered how long it would be before she no longer wanted me to sing to her, or stroke her hair as she fell asleep.

And I thought about one of the closing lines from the book… from the song we’ve sung almost every night for years now:
“I’ll make mistakes and you will too…
I’ll do my very best for you.”

And it reminded me that this is one of the quiet gifts of motherhood (and of relationships in general).
They constantly invite us back to ourselves.

The frustration and resentment weren’t signs that something was wrong… they were signals. Little taps on the shoulder asking me to slow down, to notice where my body had tightened, where my mind had raced ahead, and to come back to what was actually here.

Over and over, these moments offer us a chance to reflect, to grow in awareness, and to choose presence … not perfectly, but honestly.

It’s a question we could all ask more… “Where in my life am I trying to rush, and where am I being asked today to pause and notice?”

With love,
Brydie

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