The coughing from my three year old won’t stop. It’s 3:37 AM and I’m barely alive. The past three nights have been hell trying to get her to sleep. The poor child. POOR ME right? I haven’t had a decent nights sleep in months.
I give her the cough medicine, to my dismay right in front of a new wave of coughs. Out the medicine goes, along with vomit. On my face. On the freshly mopped floor. In her hair. In my hair. I stand there, blank faced. I wanted to sob. Instead I smiled, and did what Mom’s do. We move our limbs and function somehow, when others cannot. We are amazing really, what we are capable of.
The morning started out with dressing a teenager, who is also 6 for school.
” That outfit is NOT cool! I hate it! Everyone will hate it too!”
What about this one? No. It’s too red.
I’ve always said that I will choose my battles as far as what my children wear in public. In five years no one will care what my daughters Easter dress looked like , or if she had a braid in her hair. Like, lets be real. When I can and they are willing without a fight, they wear cute stuff. Mostly hand me down cute stuff, thanks friends.
So it was done. He went to school wearing a black T shirt. Black skinny jeans and black Nikes.
Dropping him off I assured his teacher he was in fact NOT depressed, just 6 and very picky. I may get a call from UnderOath later tonight , asking for their wardrobe stylist back, but alas I’m cooler than her. I can breastfeed a toddler while pooping. It’s an art that not many can handle.
With his hair all slicked to the side, he looked so handsome. I mean if I was six, I’d be mad crushin on Asher. He’s cute and he knows it, which is why in the High School days I am pre ordering him a male chastity belt to keep him pure until marriage. Don’t tell me I cannot do that.
Fast forward to hours later in the grocery store parking lot. The place I check Facebook and have a tiny bit of silence, usually with a toddler hanging on my boob. Not like actually hanging on it, but sucking the life out of it. Yeah, like that. So while I’m having my “break” the car alarm starts to go off. I KNEW I shouldn’t have agreed to a dorky Mini van. Not realizing I’m still breastfeeding, but more in a hurry to get the van to SHUT UP , I hop out of my van, slam the door and unlock it from the outside. My Chic Fila cup somehow falls out of the van, JUST at the perfect time to also be slammed in the door. Sweet tea goes everywhere and there I am standing with my boob out for all the parking lot to see, my toddler looking around as if I am exploiting her still breastfeeding .
MOM. no one has to know that I will be TWO in October. Keep this on the DL. Or I’ll keep you up all night again.
Realizing it’s raining, and my breast ( tiny tiny tiny breast ) is exposed I hop back in the van. No worries, only like 34 people saw me and reported me to DSS. No big. I swear the wine in the van that I just purchased is for my Grandmother, who is a devout Baptist. Er, undercover Baptist. No that’s not right. Under cover Catholic.
Upon returning home and settling down for naps I realized something. Something pretty profound that I’ve never thought about my whole 98 years of parenting young children.
Guess what. No one owes me anything for my lack of sleep. Do you hear me? Not my husband, not my friends. Not the innocent bystanders in the parking lot getting a peep show. No one. I chose this life of a Mother. It’s messy and sometimes it stresses me out. But I chose it , right? It’s still a blessing right? Yep.
I’ve got to get it out of my head that my day is harder than the woman in the check out line beside me. Her children sitting so still and being so well behaved. When all the while mine are being bribed with free cookies from the deli and a promise of a movie when they arrive home. I’ve got to get it out of my head that the world owes me for having a hard job. This will only create a hard heart. I cannot worry about people owing me a thing. I have enough to worry about and deal with.
Now that I’ve gotten this out, this is one less thing to consume my thoughts. My life really sucks sometimes when my children won’t sleep and act like wild monkeys in heat. Do monkeys go into heat? Regardless, I love them. These wild things I call my own. They are wonderful and brave and LOUD and I made them. Now it’s time to suck it up, and press on. Maybe tomorrow won’t be a great Mommy day, but it’s what I’m called to do. To be.
Bring it the heck on kids.
