Friday, December 19, 2014

The Truth and a Secret

I am going to tell you a truth.  Then I am going to let you in on a little secret.

I am often tired.  I am sometimes so tired that I find it really hard to enjoy being a mother.  It's hard when you are tired to listen to all the questions, and the crying, and the complaining, and still manage to enjoy it.

It's hard some days to clean up the spilled cereal bowls, and the orange someone spit out because they took a bite that was too big then decided they didn't like it, and the mess on the floor by the toilet made by someone who played a little too long and couldn't quite make it.  On those days, with the messes and the exhaustion, I just can't find the energy to enjoy it.

And sometimes it is my own fault for being so tired, because I forgot to go to the pharmacy (again) and pick up my medicine and probably I stayed up too late crocheting and watching Sherlock.  I'm new to the Benedict Cumberbatch as Sherlock bit, but color me orange and label me a fan.  So sure, sometimes it's my own fault, but sometimes it isn't.  Sometimes I am up with one, or two, or three kids who cry out my name in the middle of the night and need things varying from their blankets being tucked in again, to drinks of water, to snuggling away nightmares.

And sometimes we all sleep soundly through the night and I am finished with my crocheting project so I don't stay up and I remembered to get my medicine and (bonus!) even take it, and still, still some days I am just tired.

Tired from putting on five coats and five pairs of socks and five pairs of shoes and five hats and five gloves every time we have to go somewhere and then remembering where I put the car keys and where we are going and what we need when we get there, all while trying to field off the questions and the crying and the complaining.   On those days, even when we've all had all the sleep we need, I find it hard to enjoy this time of being a mother.

That's the truth.

The secret is, and what I have to keep reminding myself is that I didn't become a mother entirely for these days.  Sure, there are times when it is wonderful and you are adorable and funny and so cute it sort of hurts in my heart because I know that moment won't last forever. You will grow up and the taller you grow in height, the farther away from me you will get.

I became a mother so that these babies could see snow and stars, and flowers and trees, and all the animals in the world.  This is a possible goal now because we have zoos and pictures and airplanes and there are so many wonderful things in this world and I wanted to be able to show all of it to someone like you.  I became a mother so that I could teach someone how to cook and bake and sew and crochet.  So that someday, even after you have travelled far from my home, I would have friends who would come back and spend the night at my house and maybe you would even have littles of your own for me to snuggle.

I became a mother for you, of course of course of course.  But I also became a mother for me. It's actually quite a selfish thing, to be honest.  I wanted you, and I won't be tired forever, and you won't be tiny forever, and someday we will crochet and eat hot cookies and watch Benedict Cumberbatch be Sherlock together while your babies sleep in your old childhood bed.

And don't tell me that I will still be tired.  In my head, in those days, I have all the energy in the world.  If nothing else, I will only have to put on one coat, and one pair of shoes.  I fear that remembering where I am going, what I need when I get there, and where the car keys are will always be a challenge for me, however.  I guess I'll just have to get used to that.

Probably I am going to the pharmacy to get my medicine, right?


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