Parenting
I find myself in an epic battle with a toddler who thinks he’s a police siren and a baby who’s turned a bumper car into his personal vehicle. My little one, Lily, is on a relentless quest to know “WHYYYYY!!??” while Max, her little brother, clings to my legs, wailing to be lifted up. Honestly, I feel like I’m a walking piece of Velcro for these two.
The instant I scoop Max up, he transforms into a limp noodle, pretending to be a dead possum until he flips backward, and I have no choice but to let him down again. Olympic diving? We might have some contenders right here!
This chaos plays out all day long, and I find myself muttering, “I JUST CAN’T WIN.” It seems my kids are on a mission to make my life as challenging as possible. Nothing I do seems to hit the mark; it’s like I’m constantly missing the target.
Meanwhile, my spirited two-and-a-half-year-old has declared nap time as “so last season.” You’d think I was trying to torture her with the idea of sleep. In my mind, I’m shouting, “I WOULD GIVE ANYTHING TO BE YOU! YOU’RE SCREAMING FOR AN HOUR OVER A NAP?!” If only I could sprinkle some fairy dust and turn back time to when I was a kid again… though, let’s be honest, I’m not ready to relive high school.
Let me share a little story (yes, I cringe at myself for this). One evening, my husband had to stay late at work, and I couldn’t reach him. After a particularly wild day filled with shrieking children, I decided to have a quiet evening with my Kindle. Naturally, it was dead, so I rummaged through an old bag from a trip in February for the charger. Instead, I found a razor blade I carelessly left behind and cut my finger open.
As I stared at the blood oozing from my finger, I was oddly fascinated. It was like something out of a horror movie. I thought, “NO WAY. THIS IS HAPPENING TO ME?” I momentarily felt invincible—until reality struck. I was appalled that the universe would conspire against me in such a dramatic fashion. Blood dripped everywhere as I rushed to find a band-aid. I mean, who knew wrapping a band-aid didn’t equal pressure?
Long story short, my little cut turned into an impressive blood fountain, and I wallowed in self-pity. Here I was, a stay-at-home mom, bleeding everywhere, with my husband unreachable. I’d wiped countless noses, cleaned up spilled juice, and sliced apples, only to end up like this?!
In no time, I convinced myself I was a martyr, sacrificing my finger for my family. And then, the frustration kicked in. I felt so unappreciated. So, I cooked up a plan: I’d lie dramatically on the bed, surrounded by the blood I hadn’t cleaned up, to make my husband feel guilty for not answering my calls.
When he finally walked in, it was like a scene from a soap opera—blood-soaked sheets, a bathroom that looked like a crime scene, and my outstretched hand, which resembled something out of a zombie flick. He thought I was dead!
I know, it’s pretty ridiculous. These moments make me realize that despite my attempts at being the selfless mom, I’m still that overly dramatic twenty-something. I’m still the same person, just navigating the wild ride of motherhood. Some days, I feel like a great mom, while others, I’m slashing my finger open and throwing a pity party because my husband didn’t pick up the phone.
This, my friends, is what motherhood looks like. I’m just as impatient, just as dramatic, and just as chaotic as I was before. Maybe it’s time to embrace my quirks instead of hiding them. After all, I’m doing the best I can. Motherhood has brought all of my eccentricities to the surface. It’s a dramatic adventure, and that’s perfectly okay.
Even when I’m lying on the bed like a martyr, my family still loves me.