I am going to be completely honest with you. This morning I wrote the beginning of ten different blogs without successfully stringing together more than two sentences for a single one of them. I sat down with clear intentions and topics. And every single attempt crashed into a brick wall.
Why? Because this morning my kids are on a mission to capture and destroy all of my remaining brain cells. A mission that they attacked with vigor. And while I cannot get them to commit to a breakfast selection or a television show; their commitment to this mission was unwavering.
Parenting is a marathon with no finish line. It is the biggest and most important job that I will ever hold. It is filled with so many moments of pure happiness. Smiles and laughter that truly light up the world all around me. Big moments filled with pride and joy. Little moments filled with love. Being a parent is the single most joyful experience of my life. And it is also the hardest thing that I have ever done.
It is hard in ways that I could not imagine. Ways that I was not prepared for. It requires patience and strength and endurance. It is choosing to put someone else before yourself every single day. It is accepting that you will begin to look at life as “before” and “after” becoming a parent. It means that things change. And then they change again. Sometimes they change 97 times before breakfast.
By 9am on most weekend days we have completed a full day’s worth of activities. We have colored and crafted. We have played games and puzzles. We have attempted three or four different breakfast options. We have played dress-up and pretend. We have watched the first four minutes of five different television shows. We have played on the IPad; which really means we have just argued about who gets which iPad and how loud the sound is.
And as the little humans in my life chant “mom, mom, mom, mom, mom” over and over I find myself digging deep inside to keep pushing forward. It is amazing how the sweet little sound of their voices is both the most beautiful and most obnoxious sound that I have ever heard.
On any given day I microwave my coffee five times before I give up on it all together. And as I hear myself talking I can barely stand the sound of my own voice. Not that it matters because the second I open my mouth to attempt a coherent thought to my husband; someone interjects with a request for yet another breakfast option or help wiping their butt.
My husband and I have mastered the “we will just talk later” nod. Except later rarely comes. Because later we are exhausted. Once all of the cooking and cleaning and refereeing and butt wiping is done for the day; we are too tired to be charming or witty or productive.
And do not even get me started on the lost luxury of sitting down. Sitting down is not an option in this house when the little humans are awake. It is as if an alarm sounds throughout the house the moment I attempt to sit down. The exact instant I sit down one of my children wails from the distance. Probably some really pressing need like helping to find the milk cup that is sitting right next to them or answering the same question I have answered a million times before.
No one tells you before you have children about the real body aches you will feel at the end of the day. My ab muscles are actually sore from the number of times that I bend down to pick up the same toy. My legs throb from the number of trips I make around the house cleaning and chasing and gathering. My husband and I crawl into bed at the end of most days and marvel at the literal “pain in the ass” that this parenting gig can be.
Anyone who knows me knows that I love my children. But you know what else I love? Having a full and complete thought. Drinking a hot cup of coffee without the stale taste of microwave burn. Easing into the day with a little quiet adult time in the morning. Sitting down. Silence. I really like silence.
But those things go away when you become a parent. And do not get me wrong, you get lots of wonderful things in return. You get the unconditional love and adoration of your little humans. You get that warm feeling when your little human curls up next to you and asks you to snuggle. You get the overwhelming sense of pride when your child does something amazing. You get to feel like a super hero when you come in and save the day.
I love my kids so much that I drink stale tasting coffee every single day. I love them so much that it actually hurts. Like actual literal physical pain. I love them so much that it makes me a little crazy. Just ask my husband.
So today I was going to attempt to string together a few coherent thoughts about something that I cannot even remember right now. But I live with little humans who successfully completed their mission to capture all of my remaining brain cells. And I cannot even say with any level of confidence that there were that many left in the first place.
So congratulations little humans. You win the day. Now excuse me while I go microwave my coffee.
(Or at least what is left of her…)