Why did I sign up for this?
I used to think being a mom would be so easy. Reading stories, playing games with someone that really wants to play, lots of hugs and kisses. It would be the life.
But what my child self didn’t know as I watched my mother seemingly float through being a great mom, was the other stuff that goes with the job. For instance, who knew how many times you would have the 3 P’s on you. (In case you aren’t sure what the 3 P’s are; they are puke, poop and pee.)
Or that you would worry so much about whether some one has had a daily bowel movement.
I think the one I was most unaware is the fact that when I became a mom, I became the most worried person in the world. I used to be so carefree. I could run in a field behind our house without worrying about snakes or sticker burrs. But now, I worry about my 4 year old son playing outside even when the grass is freshly cut and both his daddy and I are out with him. And I know its illogical to worry about everything. Of course, he is going to get scrapes and cuts. Possibly, even a broken bone within his childhood (hopefully, not anytime soon).
Then, of course, there is the external “stuff” I didn’t know moms dealt with. Like grandmothers, for instance. Don’t get me wrong I love my mother and my mother “in-law”. But for some reason once you have provided a grandchild for them, apparently you lose some of your common sense thinking ability. Advice becomes unwarranted and freely given. And criticism is also freely given.
So why do we do it? Why do we let are bodies endure the wonderful torture of pregnancy, childbirth and motherhood? Well, for me, despite the worry and the fact that my heart breaks with each tear my children cry, its the love I see in the eyes of my baby girl when she looks at me, its the smile she gives me(and her daddy) that she doesn’t share with just anyone, its the fact that when my son does something for the first time on his own I am the one he runs to tell, and its when he gets hurt that my kisses are the ones that make the booboo go away.
And even in those times when I feel like I’m making a terrible mess of raising them, I know that I have to be doing something right. Because with all my imperfections, they love me.