Sometimes…<\/p>\n
Sometimes I wonder if I am cut out to do this mothering thing.<\/p>\n
A day, much like one I recently had, will happen that makes me question if I know what the heck I am doing.<\/p>\n
I needed about eight items from the grocery store.<\/p>\n
Eight.<\/p>\n
A simple in-and-out kind of trip.<\/p>\n
And I don’t know what it was about that specific day, but I could not control my kids. Cal was climbing out of the children’s seat in the grocery cart, even with the buckle fastened, and when held wanted to nose dive for the floor. And you’d better believe he was making a fuss about it all. Gwyn was not sitting down in the cart and giving me a run-for-my-sanity.<\/p>\n
I held it together.<\/p>\n
Like I had things under control.<\/p>\n
But by the time I left the store,\u00a0completely embarrassed, and got into my car…<\/p>\n
I was in tears.<\/p>\n
I sobbed the entire way home.<\/p>\n
And I thought to myself…<\/p>\n
“Am I cut out for this?”<\/p>\n
“Where did I go wrong?”<\/p>\n
“Why is this so hard?”<\/p>\n
“Am I messing them up?”<\/p>\n
“Where is the manual for this parenting thing? How do you know what to do? Why does one thing work one time, and not the next?”<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
This mothering thing? It’s hard. Really hard.<\/p>\n
Sometimes there’s just no reasoning with those little people .<\/p>\n
They yell in public. They throw their bodies to the ground in a raging fit. They smack your face in frustration. They run away from you laughing. They throw the lunch you just made for them on the floor while staring you in the eyes with a smirk on their face. They don’t wipe their own butts.<\/p>\n
If I came across any grown person who did even just one of these things, I’d think they were an asshole.<\/p>\n
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