As I sit, staring at the mountain of dirty dishes and miles of sippy cups lining the counters, I feel like I am at my motherhood breaking point.
I don’t want to deal with another sleepless night. I don’t want to clean up another food spill. And Lord help me if I step on one more ever lovin’ Lego, I will go FULL KAREN on this house!
Friend, sometimes being a mom just doesn’t look like Pinterest crafts and homemade recipes. It’s not all playdates and movie nights.
Sometimes, (eh-hem) a lot of the times, motherhood is lonely and exhausting and if you hear your name whined at you in a feeble attempt to get something they want ONE. MORE. TIME, you feel certain you will come completely undone.
Jesus, be a fence.
At this point, you don’t even get to talk to real, live adults most of the time and your husband’s long work hours seem like they’d be vacation days compared to yours. You pray through the resentment that sometimes creeps into your heart.
Friend, I wish I could tell you I’m on the other side of these very raw, very guilt-ridden feelings.
But sister, I’m in the trenches with you. I’m counting the minutes to my 9pm wine and hiding in the bathroom to cry into a hand towel so no one will hear me.
I can’t give you the sage advice of a mother who has grown children and can tell you that you’ll look back and miss these days. In fact, if someone told me that right now, I’d likely choke them.
What I can do is promise you that you aren’t alone. Who am I kidding? We are never alone. Ever. Like not even to pee.
Nope. My tribe of friends is one I basically have a text friendship with because… kids. So we vent about how we love our kids so much but also sometimes want to give them a Texas-sized wedgie because they are acting like wild savages.
The phone calls turn to texts which become gifs and then weeks will go by because…kids.
It is full-on survival mode.
Y’all I’m sure the years will go fast (though I’d place a bet our toddler has been 2 for no less than a decade now), but right now the days feel like eternity.
I eat up the snuggles but they don’t come as often as the meltdowns in aisle 4. For real. The local grocery store Karen probably has CPS on speed dial.
So, mama, I raise my coffee mug that I’ve reheated twelve times and forgotten in the microwave for half a day, to you. Because you are a hero; the real MVP. Out there wearing pants that haven’t been washed in a questionable amount of days, choosing to ignore the dumpster fire your kids call a playroom, so you can get a minute of peace to…
Nope. They’re fighting again.
What in the actual hell!?
Okay. We can do this.
Just eleventy more years of this until they can handle themselves and we get our lives back and start missing these days, right?!
So I will pull up my leggings, throw on a shirt I find in what I think is the clean pile of laundry permanently residing in the corner of our bedroom floor, and put on my crown that resembles a messy bun of mom hair and dry shampoo, and I will slay this day… At least until nap time. I can make it to nap time.
This post was originally published HERE.