Being A Mom Can Be A Really Tough Gig
By TheIntrospectiv... on December 13, 2011
My three-year-old son and I went to Target on Sunday. He jogged beside my basket, because he had too much energy to merely walk. As he jogged, he shook his head back and forth, and sang lyrics to Christmas songs. He was beside himself with unspent energy. He was truly running on all pistons and unfortunately, I was out of gas.
This kind of crazy energy seems to hit my son when he has successfully thwarted a nap. I know that he doesn’t want to admit it, but when he misses his nap, he actually becomes quite tired; but rather than giving in to fatigue, he overcompensates by being extraordinarily active. Which usually makes me feel extraordinarily old, because it’s all I can do to keep up with him.
When we got home, he continued to pulsate with energy. He sang songs at the top of his voice. He jumped up and down, so that I could barely change his clothes. He rolled on the floor. He was so worked up, that he couldn’t hear me when my husband or I spoke to him. Eventually, it all got to be too much, so that when he dumped his cheerios on the floor, I had to go to my room for some “quiet time.” And since I was carrying Baby Brother on my hip (as usual), the baby came with me.
I flopped on my bed and stared up at the ceiling fan. I thought the baby would lay on my chest, but instead, he rolled over and onto the bed, so that he, too, was staring up at the ceiling fan. We both just lay there, staring upward, in an odd bit of camaraderie. I finally broke the silence.
“I’m tired,” I said. The baby listened intently. “And I love you and your brother to pieces, but sometimes, being a mom is really hard.” The baby continued to listen and didn’t pass judgment, and I let my thoughts wander.
Being a mom sometimes is hard. Sometimes, I struggle with admitting that. I mean, I’m supposed to be writing a “positive mom blog” here, right? Is it OK to say “raising two boys is one of the hardest things that I’ve ever done” in the confines of this blog? After much thought, I’ve decided that yes, it is. Because even though I’m saying it’s hard, I’m not saying that I don’t love it. The fact is, I do. Even on the tough days.
The baby and I are still lying on the bed. I go back to our earlier conversation by saying, “It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it’s the best thing I’ve ever done.” The baby doesn’t understand a word that I’ve said, but he smiles. I'm tired, but I can't help but smile back. And with that, we dust ourselves off and go back into the fray.
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