Motherhood Is Not For Sissies

Motherhood is not for sissies.  The end.

Just kidding...that's not really the end.

Before I had a child, I looked at other parents struggling with their children and would roll my eyes with disdain. I often thought to myself, as those without children do, "I will be able to handle my kids so much better than that."

Your brain tells you those kinds of lies, so that you will, in fact, procreate and make your own offspring.  It must be some form of evolution.  Any first-time parent will tell you: "I had no idea what I was getting myself into."  And that's the truth.  Motherhood, or parenthood, is not for the weak, the lazy, the feeble.

Of course, we all know at least one parent who couldn't care less what their kid eats, or where they sleep, or even who raises them.  I don't actually consider those people parents.  Parents, in my book, give a shit.

Your child will hit, bite, and kick you.  Your child will slap you across the face and then scream at you in the middle of Target.  That same child will keep you up all night, because she doesn't feel like sleeping.  Or, after keeping you up all night, will fall asleep at 5 a.m. just as your alarm goes off to get up for the work day.  Your child will throw food at you and go on hunger strikes.  She will pluck hairs out of the cat and swing the dog around by his tail.  She will refuse to sit in her car seat, instead hanging over the back of it, while saying "No" ever so sweetly.

Small children are kind of like pimps.

But after all of that has occurred, usually on the same day, that child will climb into your lap, snuggle into your neck, hug you tightly, and whisper in her baby voice "My mama."  And that makes you forget all of the crap she's put you through.

My beautiful baby will be two years old next month.  Time has flown, truly.  As her personality blossoms, as her language develops, as the twinkle in her eye gets even more twinkly, I'm just amazed that we've all survived thus far.  This shit is HARD.  

It's also awesome.  No matter how bad it gets, and it does get bad, I am always, always grateful for my child.  For who she is, and for who she makes me.  I never knew how strong I could be.  I never knew my capacity for not giving up, or giving in.  I never, ever knew how big the feeling of love and protection could be.  The word "love" doesn't even seem to encompass the feeling I have for my child.  It's too small, too simple a word, to describe how overwhelming it is to be someone's mother and to feel those thousands of feelings every day, every minute.

Thank you, my baby.