I came across an article the other day (and don’t you know I can’t remember where in the world it was) that talked about having kids. I mean reallllly having kids. It was so brutally honest. Not much fluff or political correctness, just real, true life with kids.
The girl that wrote it really needs a high-five. She talked about the need for moms to be totally honest about life with kids. Not to hide behind a smile and pretend that everything is fine, or that you’ve got it together. Just to be honest. If more people were real about motherhood, we’d all probably feel a little more normal (or at least I would).
So.
I don’t have it all together. In fact, I’m not quite sure I’ve had ‘it’ together since PB was born.
And some days, I want to lock myself in the bathroom and sit in silence.
And some days, like when he throws a fit in Target, I get so frustrated that I want to cry and throw a bigger fit.
And sometimes, I want to sit on the couch and watch 30 uninterrupted minutes of a TV show, while eating a bowl of ice cream without sharing it. Yea. I said that.
And sometimes, I want to go to a restaurant without having to scarf down my food in 2.1 seconds.
Am I alone?
Motherhood is not for wussies. It is such a strange bird.
Why, yes, that IS my son, sans diaper, in his Elmo pajamas, after he escaped off the porch as we were trying to dress him for church.
No one can make me want to scream at the top of my lungs like my son. And no one in this world can make me more happy than my son.
Sometimes, I feel so unnatural with motherhood. I love my son more than anything in this world. He really is the center of my life. But a lot of times, I feel like a failure. I feel uncoordinated, and ungraceful. Even with PB at 1 1/2 years old, there are still some days when I feel like I can barely hold my head above water. And I’ve only got one kid!
We went to a new church when we visited Ben’s mom last week. PB lasted about 10 minutes in the service before he was laying in the floor, whining, and trying to crawl under the seats. Literally two seats down from us sat a kid who looked close to PB’s age, and he didn’t move the entire time we were there. He sat in his own seat, and watched the preacher on the stage. Ugh.
I couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong with me. I started to get hot. My face was getting red. Beads of sweat started popping up. I felt like everyone in the crowded church was staring at me, wondering what kind of hellion I was raising.
I wasn’t holding it together. Any mother in the room could clearly see my frustration. I was literally pouring the sweat, trying to climb under the seats to grab my kid. I managed to grab his foot, and I literally dragged him out from beneath the seat, kicking and screaming.
Nobody told me about this. Sure, people said parenting is a hard job, but even when they said that, they said it with a smile on their face. And what’s worse, is that I can’t mask it. I can’t smile or gracefully pull my child from the floor of the church. I’m the mom whose dress is tucked in her underwear, mascara is running down her face, and bangs are glued to her forehead, while she’s dragging her kicking, screaming son by one leg out from under the church pew.
But because I’m ungraceful, or unnatural, doesn’t mean I love my son any less than the mannequin kid’s mom. The truth is, I love deeper than I ever have before. I would not hesitate one second to do or give anything for my boy. He is what my world revolves around now. Being his mom is the best thing I have ever and will ever do.
I just won’t look that graceful doing it. I might cry when I’m frustrated because he won’t nap. And I’ll still want to scream when he throws a tantrum. And I won’t feel guilty for wanting 10 minutes of sanity to eat my own dern bowl of ice cream.
He’ll make me want to pull my hair out, and as he gets older, I’ll make him hate me a few times.
I’ll never look graceful, and I’ll never be able to hide my failures behind a smile.
But with God’s grace, we’ll be just fine.
Hellion and all.
Am I in this boat alone? Any other ‘ungraceful’ moms out there? Do you secretly want to watch just one uninterrupted rerun of ‘Friends’ while NOT sharing your bowl of ice cream?
Have a blessed Tuesday 🙂
