I tried to write an entry on Saturday honoring Mother’s Day and what it means to me. I wanted it to be sweet and sentimental, full of positive emotion and light. I wanted to share tender moments of the past 6 and a half years with these bright little souls. How different my life might be if they weren’t in it. Because of them, my life is full. My kids are the best, kind of thing.
Except my kids were not the best. They were monsters that day. They screamed, they yelled, they cried. My son hid in the bathtub, after sticking his foot in urine-filled toilet water, while my daughter tried to empty all the q-tips out of the drawer. This after everyone made so much noise that she woke from her nap early. It was this sequence of events multiplied by a hundred all day long.
It was nonstop.
Isn’t it always?
I couldn’t wait for bedtime.
Then, at the end of the day, I looked in on my peaceful children sleeping blissfully against their pillows. And I smiled. Partly because the day was finally over and it was quiet at last and I actually made it through without throwing myself off a bridge, but mostly because these moments. This is it, in a nutshell. This is motherhood. Loud and crazy and chaotic. Up, down, and everywhere in between. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows or how I thought it would be.
But it’s beautiful.
Especially when they’re sleeping.