Some DaysFebruary 27, 2012 at 2:24 pm | Posted in Giggles, Me | 18 Comments
Tags: Boys, Challenges, Children, Kids, Life, Motherhood, Parenting, Personal, Perspectives, Sleep
Some days, I’m that mom.
The one yelling in the produce aisle. The one refusing to get out the glue sticks because I just can’t handle the mess. The one who gives up and puts on their damn shoes for them because they won’t do it themselves and we have to be there five minutes ago.
Some days, I sing lullabies, tuck blankets, kiss cheeks, and smooth damp, coconut-scented hair on autopilot. Because I’ve been waiting all day to shut that door. To hug the silence instead of my children. To walk through the kitchen without having to hop over toys, refill milk, offer 41 snack suggestions, saute an onion, add three things to the grocery list, sweep up the smashed corn flakes, and wipe the black marker off the table.
Some days, I’m pretty sure I’d get fired from this mothering job if that were an option.
Some days, I wonder where that girl went. The one at the top of her class for 19 years. The one who juggled 23 clubs and concerts and meetings and projects — and was good at it. The one who always looked ahead, always planned on a career, and never imagined wearing the same pair of sweat pants three days in a row. The one with ambition.
Some days, I wash the last sippy cup and collapse into bed, so exhausted that even my fingernails are tired. I dread sleep. Because it’s just a weary stretch of blackness between days that are all the same. Days that end with me pulling used tissues and rejected purple gummy snacks from my pockets. Days with a full laundry basket and an empty heart. Endless, endless days.
And then, in the darkness, the swoosh, swoosh, swoosh of scampering sock feet wakes me. The door hinge I keep meaning to WD-40 creaks and the smallest, sweetest voice I’ve ever heard whispers, “Momma, I’m scared.” The power has gone out. And he’s sure he saw that monster, the mean orange one, in the closet again.
I sit up, prepared to shuffle him back to his room and tuck him in — the blue blanket, then the yellow blanket, then the red blanket. The words “There’s no monster, buddy” are already on my tongue. But he climbs in beside me before I can say anything. His brown eyes droop as he pulls the comforter up to his chin. In seconds, he’s asleep. His soft, shaggy blond hair touches the aqua collar of his Batman pajamas.
I lie back down and stare at him. At his eyelashes, long and lush and brown. At his cheeks, still spotted with pink from the cold he’s fighting. At the tiny smile on his face as he dreams about cookies and race cars.
I love this child so much I can feel my heart squeezing the air out of my lungs to make room for it all.
Some days, I know I am lucky.
So very, very lucky.
Do you have days (or nights) like these? Do you ever wonder what happened to the girl you used to be? When mothering gets tedious, how do you remind yourself that it’s worth it?