Before I embraced the wild ride of parenthood, I would visit the homes of friends and family with kids, marveling at the sheer chaos. Even the tidiest places bore signs of mayhem—collapsed couch springs, cabinet doors hanging by a thread, dining tables featuring artistic fork etchings. I used to think those parents were just laid-back or had particularly rambunctious children.
Then, I had my own little tornadoes, and quickly learned that it takes no special kind of parenting—or even particularly wild kids—for your possessions to meet an untimely end. It’s not always about furniture; kids have a knack for obliterating a variety of things simply by existing.
Their Toys
It’s not merely that my kids have broken their toys; they’ve also rendered them unusable for anyone else. Between scribbling their squiggly names in bright Sharpie, giving dolls “makeovers” that include haircuts and mysterious makeup (seriously, how do they always find a Sharpie?), and losing half the pieces from every multi-part game, we’ve been unable to pass down any toys to others since our eldest turned 2.
Our Walls
With three kids, we’ve been fortunate to have just one aspiring wall artist—pretty good odds, I’d say. However, they all share the title of “wall smudgers.” Have you ever inspected the walls in your home? Don’t do it unless you’re prepared for the horror. In addition to boogers (which I refuse to believe aren’t chocolate) and other unidentifiable smears, I’ve even discovered footprints on the walls. Footprints! Are my children secretly superheroes with wall-crawling abilities? I think not. And yet, there they are.
My Definition of “Clean”
Speaking of dirty walls, my standards for “clean” have taken a serious hit since becoming a parent. The house? I threw in the towel on handprints on glass ages ago, and dust? What’s that? As for the kids themselves, if they don’t smell bad, look visibly dirty, or if they think they’ve bathed recently, they’re good to go.
My Patience
People often say parenting teaches you patience, but I suspect they’re under some sort of magical influence. I was way more patient before I had kids. Perhaps it’s that my patience is tested more often, making me hyper-aware of it. Or maybe my nerves are just frayed from hearing “Mama, Mama, Mama, Mama” repeated like a broken record for over a decade. That could be it!
My Ability to Watch the News
First off, little ones don’t need to hear about today’s tragedies. Secondly, I can’t handle it. The news is a parade of horrors that serves only to remind me that the world I brought my kids into seems to be spiraling downward. Why would I willingly subject myself to that?
My Illusions of Perfect Parenting
This one speaks for itself. Except maybe bwahahahaha!
My Heart
Oh, my heart. A mother’s heart swells and shatters daily—with love, joy, anxiety, and sorrow. I find myself quietly bursting inside. The love I feel for these kids stretches my heart to its limits. Their giggles and victories make me feel like my heart might explode. The worry for their safety and my own shortcomings sometimes sends seismic shocks through my chest. Watching them learn hard lessons and navigate their own heartbreak feels like a physical break. I’m genuinely amazed my heart keeps beating through all of this.
So yes, kids do break things. But not everything that kids ruin needs to remain pristine. I’m grateful for my shattered illusions and the way my heart has cracked open wide. The walls? Meh, they can be cleaned. The toys? They were cherished. My patience? I’d like it back, but I’ll own that one. And the news? It’s mostly trash anyway.
So, kiddos, unleash your inner wrecking balls! We’ll mend what needs mending, and the rest we’ll embrace as the beautiful chaos of parenthood. For more insights on navigating parenthood and fertility, check out this excellent resource on treating infertility and consider exploring options for at-home insemination kits.