The Struggle Is Real
Being a mom means being someone who is adaptable and patient. Or at least it means having to occasionally try to be those things. But sometimes no matter how adaptable and patient you are, your day will be tough. Perhaps your whole week, month or year. Mommying is hard, folks, that shouldn’t be a big surprise. It is a fact that makes me appreciate the easy days all the more.
I read several mom and parenting-centric websites (obviously including this awesome one), and I feel like many, if not most, of the posts are about struggles, trials and tumultuous emotions. This makes absolute sense to me. It reminds me of my diary growing up.
More than a year ago, when cleaning out my old room at my parents’ house, I came across my old diary. I read several entries, and they were all full of complaints and drama. Don’t get me wrong: they were all valid complaints; my high school boyfriend broke up with me every single summer, which is just as screwed up as the fact that I continued to get back together with him. But generally, my life was really amazing, and I was very fortunate and happy. That’s why there would be weeks if not months in between posts. It was more therapeutic for me to write about the trials than the happy, easy times.
That’s how I feel now. Most of my posts (and posts from other bloggers) are about some sort of test motherhood throws at us. These posts benefit the author because, as I said, writing can be therapeutic. And the reader can find inspiration in knowing they aren’t alone in their latest motherhood milestone or challenge. But today I wanted to write about the day I just shared with my son. It was an easy day.
It’s Not All Bad
We are fresh off of the 18-month sleep regression. He is sleeping better, which means I am sleeping better. In the morning, he ate well and played independently long enough to allow me to get some work done around the house and for my business. When we played together, he was so sweet. And he laughed hard at my tickles. My son is so silly. I don’t always enjoy his silliness as much as I want to, but on this day I did; I soaked it in. I laughed hard, too.
After a nap that was not long, but not cut short due to someone mowing the lawn outside, we had lunch. He ate well, just like breakfast. The morning had been so productive that I decided to take him to the park (side note: Wolf Run Park is new and awesome, so if you’re a southsider, check it out). At Deacon’s age, he is really too small for most of the park’s equipment, but he loves running around, climbing up the stairs, watching other kids and swinging with me (actually he doesn’t love the swing, but I do, so he humors me reluctantly).
There were no tantrums at the park. But he fell on a paved path and scraped his nose. As soon as it happened, he nearly leapt into my arms and held me in a hug. This is a very rare thing, so even though he got a little hurt, my heart swelled with love holding him. I calmed him down and kissed his boo-boo, and he recovered so quickly; he’s tough. I don’t like when he hurts, but I love when I can comfort him.
At home, he allowed me enough time to make a nice dinner. When his dad got home from work, he was still in a good mood, which isn’t always the case right before we eat.
There was nothing out of the ordinary about the day. We didn’t go on any spectacular adventure, he didn’t learn a new skill or say a new word. But the day was easy. Being his mom was easy, and that is not something I can say every single day.
The truth is, you don’t become a mom because you want an easy job. I don’t expect easy. I am ready for tribulations; I plan for them in my head all the time, too much. But when a full day comes along that passes like a breeze, it sure is rejuvenating. It may not be newsworthy or groundbreaking, but it is sensational.