For My Mommas

Humor is how I survive. It’s how I get through the sleepless nights, the frustrations, the self-doubt, the moments where my own short comings are glaring me in the eyes and it feels blinding. I seek the joy in life. I try to find the humor in every second of my day because the truth of motherhood is complex.

Because it is hard.

And thankless.

And incredibly heavy.

We choose this weight. Naively, because nothing can prepare you for this. Nothing can prepare you for the second your heart becomes less of your own, the breath stealing love you feel for your children. Nothing prepares you for their first smile, or giggle, their first steps, their first tantrum (in the case of my children let’s just pause and visualize a scene from the exorcism.)

I am writing this for you momma. For the mother who is tired. For the mother who is overwhelmed by life and responsibilities. For the mother who catches a glimpse of herself and wonders when in the world she lost herself the same way she loses the car keys twice a week.

Because sometimes the 8^th time your toddler wakes up at 3am to talk to you about monster trucks you have visions of riding away in said monster truck. Or being run over.

And sometimes when your teething baby is on day 6 of no nap you find yourself drifting to memories of that one time you showered. And went out with friends. It was five years ago, but you still have vague memories of it.

Hang in there. It gets better. It may not be today, or tomorrow. That baby may still be teething, and that toddler may still think she is actually Dolly Parton, and therefore an expert on all things life and beauty. But it will. Find those little moments: the quiet ones where you are the center of your child’s universe and their very happiness is in orbit around you. YOU. The loud ones where their shrieks and laughter drown out your own thoughts. The moments of clarity where you see your baby become a child in a blink of an eye, and watch them demonstrate the ability to be empathetic and caring. The moment of pride because you taught that baby what empathy is by your actions every single day.

This job is hard,

And thankless.

And incredibly heavy.

But you are doing it. You, not anyone else. Little old, imperfect, haven’t showered in days, not sure what this crop top phase is, surviving on the crust of your children’s sandwiches, YOU.

So cut yourself a big break, and if possible a piece of cake. You’ve got this. And if you don’t think you do, just ask your Dolly Parton impersonating toddler. She seems to be an expert on a lot of things.