Being a parent is one of the greatest gifts I have ever been given. But it’s also one of the hardest gifts I have ever been given.
I was one of those girls who grew up dreaming about having a family of my own one day. Grew up dreaming about how many children my husband and I would have. Dreaming about what they would act like. Dreaming about who they would look like. Dreaming about the things we would do together.
And don’t get me wrong, my dreams have come true with my children. But what I didn’t dream about were the tough moments. The tough hours. Days. Or weeks.
The times when the cries don’t stop, the house is torn apart and defiance is running rampant. When I feel like all control is lost and that I should be the one being looked after.The times when dinner is flipped to the floor, children are lying on the ground refusing to leave, and items are pulled off the shelves.The times when I have throwup in my hair, when I find myself wearing the same sweatpants for the third day that week, and have a piece of macaroni stuck to my behind.
The times when The Baby won’t sleep, won’t eat, and won’t poop, and The Toddler won’t nap, won’t comply and won’t listen.
The times when milk bombs are thrown across the living room, when car rides turn into scream fests, and when huge grown turds come out of the children’s butts.
And when my kids and I are having a day where nothing seems to be going right, the wrong shoes are put on, the wrong breakfast made, the wrong way walked down the hallway, I feel myself spinning and I go into survival mode.
If this means more cartoons are watched, then so be it.If this means that lunch consists of graham crackers and Mickey Cheese, fine.If this means that the only thing to keep the baby from crying is pulling/sucking on my hair while I lean over him with my chin to my chest like an ostrich with its head in the sand, consider it done.
Whatever. It. Takes.
And on these days, just getting through the day sans too many tears on anyone’s part is considered a triumph.
I definitely didn’t daydream about these moments/hours/days/weeks. But, I know they are short-lived in comparison to the bigger picture. At least that’s what I try to keep in the back of my mind.That the moments of absolute bliss outweigh the moments of absolute blues. The belly-laughs trump the screeching cries. The mushy mumblings of “I love you, Momma” stomp the “NO! I don’t want/like/need it/that/those!”
I have always wanted to be a Mommy. And I’m thankful that I am.
