A Long Asterisk

17 05 2012

This morning on Facebook, I posted, “I love being a mom” as my status.

Directly after that, though, I had to comment on my own post and say how even though I always love my kids, I don’t always love being a mom, but today was a good day.

Why did I feel like I had to do that?

I’ve been asking myself that question all day.

I think it’s because I don’t want people to think that there is continuously a rainbow over my house and the sound of singing voices tripping out the doors.

No small woodland creatures come and help with the housework.

“Yes, Mother,” is not something I hear often.

(Or ever. I go by “Mom.”)

Parenting is hard. Way harder than I thought it would be. Is there anything so emotionally, physically, and mentally draining than caring for other human beings? No. No, there is not.

But today, as I cut a pancake for someone else’s mouth, as I tickled a leg that was sticking outside the blankets, as I hugged and kissed and prayed them on their way, I was grateful. Grateful to be this person here, the one who gets to give “Back hug for Mom” to my youngest, the one who gets to do twirls and make up silly songs with my girls, the one who gets to talk about what will and what will not poison a person with my oldest.

I’m so grateful I get to be here, now.

It’s not a bad gig, all told. Especially when no one’s bodily fluid is found in places it shouldn’t be.