Mountain crumbles

I crumbled a little.

I felt this overwhelming cloud of mess resting over the wisps of my hair and soon enough it was about to burst open and rain on top of me. And so it did. 

The last few days here have been a little bit strange. I've been feeling as though a tornado has been twisting and twisting around outside, just waiting patiently for just the right moment. I suppose this "tornado" could also be described as Lola herself. She's reckless, fierce, disobedient, and strong willed. With every "no" I swing her away she either throws a fit of rage or laughs in my face because apparently "no" can be the worst possible thing in the world or the funniest. She's up and down and sideways and center. Things lately are feeling a bit hopeless. 

I called Ryan this morning, because naturally I've been trying to hold it all together (rolls eyes) but I can't seem to find enough pockets to stuff every emotion into. So I kind of just exploded, just like the cloud that has been reaping over my head. When Lola was born, I felt a lot of things. One of things that always lingered with me was this stupid self conscious fear of not being enough for her and the most ultimate fear of all, failure. I've talked on here before about one of the biggest let downs as a mother was not being able to breast feed. As time went on, I realized I did what was best for us as a family and as her mother, but those beginning weeks still irk me and stay locked in a file cabinet in the back of my brain.

Or at least I thought so.

This morning that file cabinet came unlocked after 11 months, and I broke down a little. Not because of breastfeeding, but because of something new. Lola is beginning to discover the ways of being, she's not just learning to crawl and move around, she's learning how to interact, she's learning about uncovering new things (especially all the pieces of scraps all over the floor), and all in all she is learning. 

This escaped my mind in the process of her throwing yet another tantrum this morning when I swiped the cat food out of her hand. My first instinct was to point my finger at her, tell her no in the sternest voice I could muster up, and yank the cat food from her little fists. The result: full on tears and squeals. It lasted a good minute until she found something else to get into while I was in the corner ripping my hair out and throwing my own tantrum (not really). 

I'm learning too. I kept this on repeat in my head the rest of the morning. I took a deep breath. I'm learning too. 

Learning. I think it is so easy to forget the definition of learning. And no, I don't mean the dictionary definition, I mean the real deal here. Learning is the mountain you are willing to climb to get to the happily ever after. In the process of everything, things seem to be hopeless and downright scary, but that is what learning is. It's the fear and the relentless hope that pushes us forward. The end result is great, but the climb is the best part. 

I think I had forgotten that Lola isn't alone in this. As she learns to the way of growing up, so am I. I'm learning the ways of guiding her. We are essentially climbing this mountain together.

It's all slowly starting to click with me. This stage in her little life is so difficult because I feel as though we are stuck on a teeter totter. One side is telling me to discipline her, but the other side is saying to let her go, let her explore. I know as time goes on we will find a balance, just like we found a balance when she was introduced to our lives. We balanced it all out and the chaos was a thing of the past. This will pass, and she will learn and so will I. I will learn the importance of consistency of discipline, but also going with the flow and letting her go.

Time. Time is all we need. Time is all I need.