I am writing this after sending my kids to bed an hour and a half early because I just couldn't take their behavior anymore. The incessant whining, pushing, talking back, rudeness, and the temper tantrums all got to me today and I just couldn't handle it anymore. I felt like a ball of rage. I wanted to scream and hit and kick. I wanted to show them, I wanted to make them pay for the hell that they put me through this week, but I didn't, and even in the midst of that- I love them with a love that they will never comprehend until they experience it for themselves. I still look at them, peacefully in their bed and think, "How lucky am I?" That is what being a mom is for me. It's dealing with torture and smiling, it's going against every bone in my body and functioning solely on love. It is showing love non-stop after my children have done/said something that would have gotten anyone else run over with the van. And sometimes it's knowing when to put them to bed because I've run out of effective, rational parenting skills.
This is my dream come true. It's not rainbows, butterflies, and lollipops all the time. It's real life and sometimes it's gritty. Sometimes I don't know what's going to happen from minute to minute. Sometimes I don't know what's going to come out of my mouth when I open it, and sometimes what comes out of my mouth is neither helpful or true. Sometimes what comes out of my mouth is mean and uncalled for. Being a mom is screwing it up daily and knowing that your kids will still love you tomorrow and give you another chance, just like you'll do for them.
Being a mom is also full of priceless, amazing moments. When you come stumbling down the stairs after being up all night with a puking kid, you haven't showered in 4 days, and you've been wearing the same clothes since God only knows when, but your son looks at you and smiles this amazing smile, sucks in, and says, most earnestly, "Mommy, you're sooo beautiful." Or your daughter picks clovers and dandelions for you and delivers them like they're 12 dozen red roses. Or she says, "Can you smile, Mom? I really love your smile." My two year old will often climb into my lap, put her hands on my cheeks, and just rub my face while looking deep into my eyes. She doesn't say any words, she doesn't have to, I know exactly what's going on. She loves me, despite my imperfections and my quick temper, she thinks I'm the best mommy ever. There are moments, while laying on the couch with a sleeping baby, where even through the sleepless daze, I feel so blessed. My children move me to tears constantly, and usually for all the right reasons. I have never met three people so innocent and pure, so hopeful and resilient. They are my inspiration- even on days when I wish I could bury them in the backyard. My fervent wish is to be the mommy my kids think I am. I'm failing, but I keep trying. Being a mom is real life. It's messy, littered with human waste, and smattered with just the right amount of heart stopping, breath taking, and blinding love- given and received. It's everything I ever wanted, and nothing I expected.