MOPS, Mornings, and Memories

This morning marked our third year to attend MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers). It is sort of a milestone for me. For three years, I have confined my skills and responsibilities to the exclusive use of my family and home. But this year I am volunteering them elsewhere.

I am serving as Table Leader, Publicity Manager, and newsletter columnist for the 2010-11 MOPS year. It is very gratifying to be able to contribute to an organization that has given so much to me in this season of my life.

A couple of years ago, as a new mom to eight month old Rylie, I was shocked to discover that I was pregnant again. Quite frankly, I was depressed. I was probably suffering from a mild case of Post Partum Depression. PPD coupled with the additional emotional and physical stress of an unplanned pregnancy and a baby made this a very difficult time.

Although I was loving being a mommy to Rylie and feeling more fulfilled than I have ever been, I was still struggling with all the unforeseen complications of motherhood; the transition from working girl to stay at home mom (and the financial ramifications), the time drained from my relationship with Greg, the change in my old role of just wife to my new roles of wife and mother, the false perception that I had lost my independence. It was sort of a mini identity crisis.

Enter MOPS.

I was invited by my good friend, Andrea. And I was apprehensive. After all, getting myself and ten month old Rylie dressed and out the door on time was, in and of itself, a major victory.

Who am I kidding? It still is.

But I did it. I drug my exhausted, nauseous, 16 weeks pregnant self to MOPS. Of course I brought Rylie, who managed to occasionally enjoy herself in spite of a serious case of separation anxiety.

The next month, I came back. And the next.

I went to every meeting and playdate, rain or shine (seemed like it was always rainy), in morning sickness or in health. I went each month through the duration of my pregnancy. I somehow always found the strength to make it to MOPS, even when I couldn't summon it for grocery shopping or house cleaning or Sunday School. I attended a meeting two weeks before Sophie's birth, and returned with her in arms three weeks after.

For my second year (last year), I went to every meeting unless my children were contagiously ill. I will admit it was difficult. I had a very young toddler (still plagued with seperation anxiety) and a new baby to wrangle each morning. I was habitually late and often showed up with fresh-from-the-shower-wet hair, no makeup, and sweat pants.

But I did show up.

At MOPS, I have found support and understanding, reassurance and friendship. What I have not found is judgment or criticism, even when I stumble in late with wet hair.

I thought I was going to make new "mommy friends" and get a break from my home-all-day routine.

And I did.

But ever so slowly, I learned how to be a better mom and wife. I learned how to become the woman I am called to be. The message was subtle and simple. My identity crisis was solved before I ever realized it existed.

And now here we are. Far from perfect, but I managed to get there on time. Here is the run down of our morning.

Today's MOPS morning:

In order to be there at 8:30, we woke up very, very early.

Sickeningly early.

But I got us clean, dressed, and fed in record time. The girls were not enthused until I explained where we were going. Despite the following pictures, Rylie is actually very excited when I tell her that it's gonna be a MOPS morning.

Observe the enthusiasm.

We are not morning people.

There is a hint of smile, but still groggy.

Finally, a little personality.

We had some drama with the drop off, but it was generally smooth. Rylie is an old pro and Sophie is now the one with separation anxiety. Rylie consoles her, "It will be otay, Hophie. Here is your paci. Here is your bankie. You can go play wit your friends, Hophie. Mommy has to go play wit her friends now."

So I did.

I think it's going to be a great year.