wednesdays

One of my favorite things to do on a breezy 60 degree day is take a nap.

And the ability to do so in the middle of the day makes up for most of the things that suck about being a SAHM.

A year ago today I missed most of the beautiful things. A year ago
today I struggled to manage a three-year-old, a newborn and a house
under construction. A year ago today I was so angry and burnt and
frustrated that I finally admitted it and wrote my first blog post, Waiting on Wednesdays.

I initially started blogging as a way to cope with my strong-willed child. At the time my blog was titled, Crocodiles, Bears and Foxes because ONE suffered severe night terrors that usually involved one of those animals.

And during the day her terrors turned into tantrums of such calamitous proportions that I wanted to feed her to the crocodiles, bears and foxes.

*          *          *

…my
weekend goes from Wednesday to Friday. This is because my three
year-old, ONE, is at preschool on those days. I call it preschool to
make myself feel better. It’s really daycare. We put her in daycare
when she was 10 months old and I went back to work. Since the birth of
TWO, I’ve stopped working (at a workplace other than my house) but she
stays in school three days a week.

I
tell myself it’s because she’s already learning more than I could teach
her, that she’s accustomed to her friends, teachers and the constant
stimulation of a classroom. This is somewhat true, as we seem to bore
her quickly since she can’t boss us around the way she can her friends
(again, a lie I tell myself). But it’s mostly because I don’t think I
could stand being home with her seven days a week. The idea alone makes
my stomach turn.

*          *          *

Life really can change in a year.

Though I didn’t notice when it happened, my will strengthened. And
I’ve learned how to keep hers in check, while not squelching her spirit.

And TWO emerged with this great personality that really tied the room together.

And then I got pregnant with THREE, and lost her. Which gave me an understanding about my girls.

They weren’t MINE.

I didn’t make them.

I don’t own them.

They were a gift.

A gift that I wouldn’t get to keep.

A gift that could be taken away from me at any time.

A gift that I would one day stand accountable for.

And a gift that I was taking for granted.

That changed everything.

It changed me.

Days of the week don’t matter anymore.

I mean, some days still suck. But other days, like today, are great.

Days when the windows are open and we have mid-afternoon slumber parties.

We whisper about Daddy and TWO and candy and stickers.

And then we tuck each other in.

ONE: Mama? I hope you live next door to me when I grow up.

ME: You want that? Really?

ONE: Yes. For all the days.

ME: I love you, Pea. I hope you don’t change your mind.

ONE: It won’t ever change, Mama.

How glad I am that I changed.

Or I might have missed out on one of the most beautiful things about being a mom.

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