Who is this woman?! I want a pink cape and fishnet stockings! At least I know I’d fit in well at Walmart….
It’s a blessing, it’s a curse
A bowl of love, a booger stuck to a wee one’s finger
Soft kissable baby feet, grape-stained shirts that even Stain Stick refuses to remove
A picnic at the park, a permanent marker on the cushion of your dining room chair
A quart of giggles, a potty training nightmare
A house of love, a three year old’s tantrum in an aisle at Target over a Barbie
Little hands that hold tightly to yours, a no-nap taking ball of evil
A wondrous reflection of you in a tiny frame of sweetness, a quart of testing your patience that asks 4,000 questions an hour about why the crow outside is picking at his feathers…why doesn’t he just take a bath, why is the sky blue, will the ground ever swallow you whole, why is that lady wearing curlers in her hair at Kroger?
Pretty much. I do believe during pregnancy the amount of brain cells depleted by the unfathomable number of jars of pickles eaten or bowls of ice cream consumed transfers our minds to the little love of grace in our bellies. Babies don’t give those brain cells back. This is why LISTS become a mothers source of sanity after giving birth. Without lists, our lives would be reckless. Whoever invited the “To-Do” list was a mother. To do what? See? You need that list today…what was my point here? I didn’t write it down fast enough.
My life is crazy. Yet, I do my best to put on my cape of motherhood and head out into the bustling world of all things mom. Some days I realize my cape is at the cleaners, and when I don’t wear it, I usually end up losing my kitchen shears, only to find them later in the passenger seat of my car, or make a bowl of Mac & Cheese for the kid who HATES Mac & Cheese at lunchtime which ends in tears, or forgetting to return a library book that now costs me $23 in overdue charges. I don’t LOVE “Diary of a Wimpy Kid” that much I tell ya…
By the graceful words of Barney Stinson….
Mothers are not meant to be perfect. I’m not. So when I feel like a failure because I forgot to pick up SpongeBob fruit snacks at the store for my 8 year old who asked me 587 times to get them, I stop being sad…and I be awesome instead. And I drive all the way back to the store to buy those dad-gum fruit snacks because that’s what mother’s do.