Motherhood is not for the weak. It’s for the awesome. It might be a fact that only those who have crossed the parenthood bridge are aware of, but the ignorance of some doesn’t make it any less true.
Earlier this evening I was feeling a bit nauseous. Dinner was kind of late and still in the oven, so I went and drank a glass of water hoping it would make me feel a little better. Hunter was less than impressed.
“Mom, you need to eat something. Water is just going to make your puke soggier and then it will come out easier.”
My seven-year-old thinks I’m an idiot. He also made a disgusting declaration, when I already felt sick. I didn’t throw up and my self-esteem is still intact. See? Awesome.
Last week I had finished my run on my treadmill and was sitting on the floor stretching. This time the shot came from Tanner.
“Do you know what watching you exercise reminds me of?”
I was glaring before he even answered his own question.
“Remember that Biggest Loser show we watched at Grandma and Grandpa’s? It’s kind of like that.”
I would’ve ignored it had Hunter not previously told me that my stretch marks reminded him of spaghetti. Oh, and if Haylee hadn’t walked by me, poked me in the belly button and giggled while saying, “Squishy belly!” in the type of voice a person uses when they’re about to pinch your cheeks.
Motherhood is not for the faint of heart. It demands a thick skin, airtight self-esteem, and enough strength to prevent you from plummeting into a severe depression every time your children open their mouths. It really is for the unbelievably awesome.
Do you know how awesome it is that you can walk out of a public bathroom stall after your four-year-old daughter has accused you of having man parts in the loudest voice imaginable? And you walk out with confidence, forgetting that several women probably heard the argument you had with her about it. The argument you didn’t win because she just acted like you were a liar and got bored with the whole discussion.
Or you were at the grocery store when the same daughter decided to throw herself prostrate on the ground in the checkout line during one of her best fits of all time. And while she was busy lying in your way, your carton of eggs fell apart and hit the floor. You didn’t cry or anything. And you also didn’t vocally express how you wished the eggs had landed ON your daughter. Awesome.
And remember how great you were when you made your son apologize for knocking that display over in the mall? It took him twenty minutes to finally accomplish it. By the end of the whole episode all of the teenage store clerks thought you were the meanest mom ever. But your son learned the lesson you were trying to teach him. That makes you awesome.
You withstand criticism and dirty looks and failure. You stand unabashed in the face of your children’s misguided attacks and seemingly honest declarations. You survive feeling like less than you are and remain victorious in the ever constant battle of raising your children well.
You are undoubtedly awesome. Quit telling yourself otherwise. Stop listening to anyone else who is telling you differently. You’re wrong and so are they.
No one but a mother can look at a child with love who is hurling “I hate you” threats while simultaneously launching their newest Lego creation across the room and breaking it.
Only a mother can calmly come up with the appropriate discipline and solution after their son cuts his fitted sheet with a pair of scissors just because he wanted to. Hey, it was better than the time he clotheslined his sister and knocked her flat on her back. Hang on to that.
Motherhood is for the awesome. You are worthy of admiration and respect. Let anything else that’s hurled your way roll right off your back. Kind of like the time you were pregnant and your son told you that your belly was as big as Santa’s. Whatever. At least you earned yours.