This is going to come across as odd and perhaps a bit self-congratulatory coming from me, a mom, but I’m going to say it nonetheless. Being a mom to little people is hard. Like really hard. And those of us who do it should feel awesome because we are managing to make it work.
Sometimes I’ll do something like go to the store, and I will come out feeling like I got out of battle. It seems to simple. So totally and completely deceivingly simple.
Take this morning.
After spending half of the night awake with little ones and feeling like crap myself, I managed to get Magoo into her uniform and out the door with all of her winter gear on her person. (This latter part is often quite difficult.) I got Mae her bottle even though Goosie had decided to feed most of our formula to Quinn (our dog.) I got Goosie out the door even though on her head she chose to wear wool diaper cover in place of an actual hat, but I went with it because it was 100% wool and probably more warm than her hats. And it was clean.
I dropped Magoo off apparently incorrectly according to the principal even after months of doing this, and then I went to the grocery store with Mae and Goosie to get some stomach medicine for me as well as ingredients to make lasagna and Christmas cookies tonight. The medication was a wash because the doctor never called it in, and I didn’t realize until we were already in the car that I had forgotten the cheese and eggs which makes both recipes impossible to make. But nevertheless, I did manage to keep Goosie safe despite the fact that she insisted on holding on to the edge and standing on the bottom in the most unsafe of positions. And she didn’t break any bottles despite the fact that she would randomly hop off, take off, and grab huge glass bottles off the shelf because she decided that we absolutely needed garlic pickles and other assorted items.
By this time, we didn’t have time to go home and still pick Magoo up on time, so we ran to Barnes and Noble where I somehow managed to buy a boat load of presents for all three kids, and since I wasn’t intelligent enough to grab a basket by the door, I walked around the whole store pushing Mae, corralling Goosie, and carrying multiple large items including a globe because a globe was one of very few things Magoo actually requested from Santa. (Her list consisted of a robe, a broom, and a globe.)
Luckily two people were kind enough to let me cut in line because we were running late for Magoo, but still we were in line for about ten minutes right next to the gift card rack and the battery display, both of which were right at Goosie’s eye level. I managed to stop her from completely destroying both displays.
Then we went back to the pharmacy and found out they still didn’t have my prescription ready, so we came home and started the lunch fiasco. I’ll spare you the gory details of that event.
And this is really no different from anyone else’s day who has kids or has had kids in the past. It’s what it’s like with little ones. And perhaps that’s why we don’t really pay attention to how hard it is. How exhausting it can be. How it can fill your heart with so much love and make your bones and spirit absolutely throb with fatigue.
Being a mom is great. It’s amazing. Every day it makes me want to cry with joy and laughter. But it’s freaking hard. And the more I forget that it’s supposed to be hard, the more I get overwhelmed with its difficulty. But if I can remember that dance class with three little kids is supposed to be chaotic and exhausting, then it’s easier to cope with and find the joy in.
So today, take a moment and pat yourself on the back mommies. You might not have cured cancer or accomplished world peace. But you kept your kids properly clothed and fed and probably fit a moment in there to make them laugh. And that’s awesome. And it’s hard. And while technically almost anyone of a certain age can become a mom, only you can be the exact and perfect mommy for your little gaggle of wee ones. You rock!