Messes can be overwhelming. The mere sight of glitter sends my anxiety levels skyrocketing. In an effort to maintain sanity, I only allow our children to drink water—cleaning up spilled juice feels like a Herculean task. It’s not just a puddle on the floor; it splatters, reaching the legs of furniture. I know this all too well because I’m the type of parent who meticulously cleans every last droplet until the area is spotless.
“Just relax!” advise my well-meaning friends and family. Relaxation sounds appealing, and I genuinely try to embrace it. I observe others who seem effortlessly calm and emulate their behavior—like handing out juice without losing my composure. When spills occur, I calmly instruct my child to clean it up. I remind myself that I am no longer neurotic. I have chosen the path of relaxation.
I hand my child a paper towel, deliberately avoiding the messy aftermath and forcing a smile. After all, relaxed individuals navigate chaos with ease. They don’t clench their teeth as if facing an impending disaster when juice is tracked through the house. While they appear to handle it effortlessly, I know that achieving this state of relaxation is a challenge.
Then, my child taps me on the shoulder and innocently asks, “Where’s my real mommy?”
That night, I lie awake, imagining ants discovering the uncleaned juice residue. I end up scrubbing the kitchen floor at 2 a.m. because that’s what meticulous parents do—they cannot rest until everything is in order. Fingerprints on windows, toothpaste splatters on mirrors, and crumbs on the floor drive me to distraction. My arsenal of cleaning supplies is extensive, especially since nothing aggravates me more than an unclean bathroom.
Having three children under seven has made my quirks increasingly problematic. I fear I’m either raising future members of Obsessive-Compulsive Anonymous or setting them up for a lifetime of therapy. For years, my neuroses were at their peak, but then the number of children became overwhelming. These little ones produced messes—snot, poop, and spills—at an astonishing rate. They demand to wear mismatched outfits, even to the grocery store, and find humor in crushing Cheerios and scattering the dust everywhere.
Children, by nature, are unconcerned with parental neuroses. Their focus is on snack time and imaginary friends named “Banana.” By the time I had my third child, I had simply run out of patience. I fought valiantly to maintain cleanliness, but one fateful day, chaos erupted: the baby was screaming, the toilet overflowed, and the older siblings had a food fight—all at once. The messes were too numerous to tackle simultaneously. My last ounce of patience vanished.
While I would love to say that caring less about messes has been liberating, the truth is, I simply feel exhausted. The fatigue of an uptight parent often leads to a necessary surrender to the chaos, compelling me to lie down. When I finally do, my children gather around, playing with my hair and asking questions about my belly button. It’s a moment of pure magic… until someone inevitably gets a bloody nose.
Perhaps my children will nostalgically remember their tidy childhood home, or perhaps they’ll recall my reactions to bathroom messes. Regardless, they’ll know they were loved—imperfectly but wholeheartedly. Neurotic parents, after all, give everything they have to their children.
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In summary, the journey of parenting, particularly while managing neuroses, is a challenging yet rewarding experience. Accepting a degree of chaos can lead to deeper connections with our children, despite the occasional mess.