One of the great things about blogging for over 5 years is that I don’t have to rack my addled mommy brain to try and recall, say, what my firstborn was like at age 2. I can just look it up in my archives. And lo and behold, I found this post, which sums up exactly where I am with Son #2 right now:
Blogs: Cheaper Than Therapy
The other day I came across a post on another parenting blog, which seemed to be written for me. Blogger Rocks In My Dryer recalls the days when she had 3 boys under age 4:
“I’m not sure I was fully aware, back then, how incredibly taxing those days were. I operated much of the time in survival mode, buzzing between a pediatrician visit to a botched bedtime to a temper tantrum to an explosive diaper (or three). And I loved it – make no mistake. For all the exhaustion, there were many times that were so precious they did (and still do) take my breath away. But the intensity of the demands had me bouncing back and forth constantly between joy and discouragement, wonder and fear. I remember feeling guilty, sometimes, knowing there would never be a sweeter season in my life, so why was it that I sometimes just wanted everyone to go to sleep already?”
She continues: “I’m still very much in the trenches of motherhood, though I’ve mercifully passed into the days in which everyone is responsible for his or her own bodily fluids. Standing on this side of the preschool years, let me tell you, if you’re sitting there reading this with spit-up on your shirt, that you’re not crazy – what you’re doing is very hard. And it really does get easier.”
Thank God. Thank God this woman put into words what I’ve been feeling, without resorting to “Just wait till they’re teenagers” or “Enjoy this time because it goes so fast” or “Why don’t you go back to work if you don’t like being at home?” Because IT’S NOT THAT SIMPLE.
Every day, I am amazed at what a wonderful and intelligent human being I created in my own body. I marvel that, having been alive less than 3 years, my son already has more personality than most 30-year-olds I know. I revel in the joy he brings to his dad and me and everyone else he encounters. I cannot imagine what my life would be like without him. And yet…
Every day, I have to negotiate, bribe, endure, and sometimes threaten a very short, very strong-willed person. We clash over what to wear, what to eat, who descends the stairs first, whether to use the potty and when, who gets to flush, whether or not assistance is needed putting on shoes, getting into the car, and hundreds of other things. His needs always come first; mine are always last.
My son tests me like no one else. He brings me to my breaking point weekly, if not daily. And just when I am sure I cannot prepare yet another meal that will be refused and thrown away uneaten, when I am sure I cannot endure another struggle over letting the water out of the bathtub, when I am sure I will go insane if forced to play another game in which I pretend to be a Disney character, when I am sure that if my husband doesn’t walk in the door in the next 2 minutes I will run out of the house and never come back, I get up and do it all again the next day. And the next. And the next.
The aforementioned post reassured me that I’m not crazy and I’m not alone. So thank you, fellow bloggers and moms. This year, I vow to seek out more of you and drink in the wisdom of the blogosphere. It’s cheaper than therapy, that’s for sure!