This Thing Called Motherhood


With the recent birth of our son Luca, I’ve been thrown back into the ring of motherhood full force. It’s one thing mothering and caring for older children, but having two under the age of two is taking it to another level. A level of total chaos, that is.


It’s been 20 years since I had more than one under the age of two. Now I remember why chocolate became my go-to meal and my hair constantly resembled Don King’s.

There’s no time for breathing let alone jumping in the shower to clean the ungodly scent of spit-up, poop, and smashed food from your body.

I’m a walking disaster and, I’ll admit, I have been feeling sorry for myself.

I want to look like Angelina Jolie . . . just for a minute!

And I want to sleep for 20 hours and feel like I can take on the world!

I really just want two seconds to breathe. 


This thing called motherhood is hard — very, very hard.

You have to accept the chaos as a normal way of life. You have to push through the sleep deprivation, even when your body is ready to give up. And you have to look at all those hot women dressed to the nines and be okay with looking like the next candidate for a Richard Simmons “Sweatin’ to the Oldies” video.

That’s life. That’s motherhood.

It’s currently past noon and I haven’t taken a shower. I have breast milk stains all over my shirt. My pants have been used as a napkin by my 22-month-old, who has eaten pizza, yogurt, and other unidentified foods since waking up at 4:30 this morning.

I’m tired. I’m grumpy. I need a shower. I’m a hurting mama. But push on I must.

And I will . . . because this right here, this thing called motherhood, is worth every ounce and second of stinky, sleepless, delirious pain.


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