It's 10:16 pm and the kiddos are in bed, which means that I made it through the day, even though the day technically hasn't ended yet. For me, (as for the majority of stay-at-home moms, I'm assuming) "making it through the day" simply means that I managed to arrive at the time in which the children are asleep without having had any nervous breakdowns of any sort. (Me, not them.) Some days this is easier said than done, I tell you. Here's a sneak peak into, oh, let's just pick today, to prove my point.
By 12:30 this afternoon, I had:
-Spent over an hour up to my elbows trying to diminish the horrifying effects of some very brightly colored projectile vomit. And I mean projectile, people. (I will spare you the gory details, but let me just drop some key words: bathtub, laundry, plastic spoons, toothpicks, electric drill, Resolve, and baking soda. Lots and lots of baking soda.)
-Tried (unsuccessfully) to coax a 4-year-old into following through with a haircut (that she said she wanted!) in front of an audience of pleasant retirees at Great Clips
-Run said 4-year-old across the grocery store for an emergency bathroom visit right before I was about to put the very last item that I needed into my cart
-Wiped someone else's bum in a public bathroom with a wiggly 9-month-old perched precariously on my hip. (Don't worry, it was someone I knew.)
-Scraped day-old poo off of the bathroom floor at home
-Realized that the girls had discovered (on a high shelf) and had been playing with a thermometer that was last used for a rectal temp
-Been spit up on. Twice.
And yet, somehow, it was not a terrible day. Heck, I don't even think I'd call it bad.
How on earth did that happen, I ask myself?
Perhaps it's because my hormones happen to be in properly working order today. Perhaps the six hours of sleep from last night was just the magic number I needed for today's tasks. (Just kidding. There is no way it's that.) Perhaps it's because the sympathetic grandma at Safeway told me with a smile that she'd been "down that road" when I mentioned multi-tasking as I wiped a bottom while holding a baby in a public restroom.
Or maybe it's just about love. As in really loving being a stay-at-home mom. Loving what I do, and loving who I do it for, even when puke and poo and any number of unpleasant things is involved. Loving the opportunity to see my kids grow and progress and get bigger and smarter each day. Loving that I am one of the first people they see when school is over. Loving the lunch-packing, and reading, and nursing, and random hugs, and chore charts, and last-minute Valentine's, so that when I am a grandma and I tell a struggling young mom that I have been "down that road," the memory of that road will be infused with such great happiness and satisfaction that there is absolutely no room for regrets.
Right now, my shirt is covered in Ritz crackers, the bottoms of my feet have traces of crumbs on them from the kitchen floor, and the circles under my eyes are growing darker by the minute. (And, on a side note, I still have a pair of Spencer's socks in my pocket that I put there about seven hours ago when I picked the girls up from school.) I need a shower, my back aches, there is play food all over the floor of our family room, and the dishwasher needs to be both emptied and loaded. Lexa's room still reeks, and I just realized that have no idea what to fix for dinner tomorrow without having to go to the store again.
And yet, somehow, I simply wouldn't change anything. Because, even when it's hard, I can still love it.
(This was supposed to be the "before" picture of
Lexa's haircut today. Note that there is no "after".)
Good job mommy. Thank you for this post, as i sit here covered in spit up, you explained just how i feel.
ReplyDelete