Momservation: Being a parent means teaching your children to be independent when all you really want to do is never let them go.
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Boy does Mother’s Day look different depending on which side of the diaper bag you’re on.
I’m going on year 16 of being a mom but the tears still seem wet from Mother’s Day 2001 when I sobbed into my husband’s shoulder over how much being a mom sucked.
Granted, the hormones were elevated to Everest proportions because I’d just had my daughter, I was operating on no sleep, in excruciating pain every time I breastfed, and my 17 month old toddler was a boy in motion who never stopped.
All I wanted for Mother’s Day 2001 was to go back in time and slap some sense into the well-rested woman with the still perky boobs before she turned to her husband and said, “I think it’s time to start a family.”
Now, as I sit in my quiet house that I wished for on at least half a dozen Mother’s Days and trip over the discarded clutter of my children that I requested to escape from for another half-dozen Mother’s Days, the tears are falling again.
Four more years. That’s all I get with my messy, loud, bickering, forgetful, procrastinating, exasperating, all-consuming kids under my roof.
It’s not enough.
Being a mother doesn’t suck at all. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done with my life.
From the mornings when my early-rising son would bump the side of my bed hoping to wake me so I would play with him to my sassy baby girl standing up to bullies twice her age in the sandbox, being the mother of my two children has been the absolute joy of my life.
They make me proud, they make me laugh, they make me feel valuable, they make me keep perspective on what is really important in life.
And I love that every morning I have two reasons under my roof to drag my overscheduled and exhausted self out of bed giving me purpose to enjoy the journey.
Every evening and every morning since the day they were born I touch the precious heads or cheeks of my children and thank God that he chose me to be their mother.
I will never stop being their doting mother, but the privilege of laying my hands and eyes on them each day for an instant boost to my soul will only last four more years.
Now all I want for Mother’s Day is more time with them.
More time with these amazing individuals whom I somehow, amazingly, didn’t mess up but have somehow managed to set on an impressive course.
From our evening ritual where I lovingly plant a kiss on the stubbly cheek of the son who now dwarfs his big-boy bed to my sophisticated daughter who still takes charge of life, I will never be able to get enough time with my two children.
But I’ll take what I can get. With these last four years of having them under my roof each night, instead of regretting the Mother’s Days when I just wanted to be left alone and for no one to utter the word “Mom!,” I will cherish the day I turned to my husband and said, “I think it’s time to start a family.”