I promised myself that this wasn’t going to turn into yet another mommy blog. You know, the kind that makes the internet seem to overflow its banks, like a massive river in spring runoff, with the murky waters, bacteria and general detritus of frustrated parenthood. The kind that over-educated, under-stimulated women write when they want to do anything but think/talk about their children/parenting, but can’t seem to do anything but think/talk about their children/parenting. One of those blogs. But you know what? By trying to avoid the mommy blog thing, I haven’t posted on here in almost 3 months. Which kinda defeats the purpose of having a blog as a regular writing outlet. So mommy blogging is just where I’m at today.
Parenting is feeling pretty full-on at the moment. I’m home (in my not-officially-tiny-but-still-very-small house) with my two little girls: Z is 3.5, and L is 1.5. They are lovely creatures, and I realize that I’m lucky to be able to stay home with them. I don’t know how mothers who work full-time do it. But sometimes, when L wakes up at 5AM, or I’m once again trying to convince Z that she actually NEEDS to pee more than once a day, or I’m cleaning the floor for the TENTH TIME after L has thrown her food all over, I’m struck by the sheer hard work of it. It is a joy, but it is also a grind, and anyone who tells you otherwise is either lying or on some medication that I want to know about.
But even more than the physical work, it’s the emotional labour that sometimes smacks me in the face. It’s learning to manage the ever-shifting moods of a fierce toddler and a quirky preschooler while trying to maintain some sort of emotional stability myself. It’s yelling at Z that she needs to be gentle with her sister and then realizing that my delivery is contradicting my words. It’s the struggle of teaching them resilience and independence while remembering that they are still very small and needy. And it’s the feeling that no matter how hard I try, they will still probably have a psychologist someday ask them to “tell me about your mother.”
And then there’s the feeling that time is passing. That my beautiful babies are not really babies any longer. Before I know it, they’ll be in school. And that thought simultaneously makes me want to weep and rejoice. Because I am both desperate for them not to grow too fast, and desperate for them to grow up. I’m sick of diapers and night wakings and tantrums, but I’ll never be sick of squishy baby thighs and bedtime cuddles and the look on L’s face when she says a new word. It’s wondering how to do this season well, and how to be ready to move on to the next. It’s looking at moms with brand-new babies and feeling both jealous and nauseous at the thought of doing it all again. And it’s knowing that if I hear the phrase “cherish every moment” one more time, I’m going to vomit.
Parenthood is the best and the hardest, and more often, the mundane-est. And it may continue to show up on this blog.