I claim to be a writer.
But if this blog is any example of the kind of writer I am, I totally suck at it because I haven’t posted anything in almost a
year.
Lately, I’ve been reading blog posts from women who really inspire me (even though one such blogger hates the word ‘inspire’). They tell shit like it is. They write about real life. Not the ‘I’m a mom and a wife and my life is perfect because I’m a mom and wife’ life. But the ‘sometimes things suck and I’m not afraid to admit when they do’ life. And I admire that. Like REALLY admire that.
So I'm trying it. Settle in and read on. Um, please?
I remember when I became a mom, which is a completely different story because I struggle with infertility. And when I say infertility, I mean after countless years of doctors and procedures and medical bills, I’ve been pregnant once – and it didn’t end well. I feel as though somehow, infertility in this day and age is being confused with women who complain that they’ve tried for three months and they still aren’t pregnant (said in my best whiny voice ever). And then on the fourth try, when they see those two lines on the pee stick, it’s a miracle.
Am I envious? You bet.
Am I bitter? Maybe. But let’s move on.
So how did I become a mom, you might wonder? Well, I had to fill out an application. True story.
It was a requirement of the adoption agency. So was an autobiography, counseling with a licensed therapist, a complete medical work up, four letters of recommendation and a background check against the National Child Abuse and Neglect Data System. You know, the normal things you have to do when you want to have a baby (she said sarcastically).
But after all of that, I ended up with a perfect little human being who’s perfectly perfect. Did I mention how perfect he
is?
As a parent, I sort of have a mantra. It’s a line from the movie Terms of Endearment. It was released in 1983, when I was just 10 years old, but this message stuck with me. The movie was a tear-jerker sort of thing about a woman named Emma and all of her trials. She and her mother don’t get along and Emma’s husband takes her away from home because of a
job and then he cheats on her and then she ends up getting cancer and one of her kids hates her and…well…it’s real life. Emma eventually learns that the cancer is going to kill her and she and her husband get together in the hospital to have a heart-to-heart about whether or not he can raise three young kids on his own. Talking about parenthood, Emma says, “As hard as you think it is, you end up wishing it were that easy.”
BOOM. Genius.
I get it. Parenting is hard. Like really hard (in fact, I should probably stop talking about how hard it is because I’m getting the urge to make a “thanks for dealing with me” phone call to my mom). You know that when your child is born, there’s going to be sleepless nights and zombie-like days and a constant cycle of poop and puke and crying. Feed, change, play, sleep, feed, change, play, sleep. Over and over and over.
And then, as they gain a little independence and a little confidence and a little mobility, they start becoming little people with their own thoughts and plans and goals. And your thoughts and plans and goals mean nothing to them. And you keep asking yourself, “When will this get easier?”
The answer? Never. It never gets any easier. Just like Emma said.
But you deal. You deal with the worry and anxiety and fear. And you love your child with all your heart. You hold him and snuggle him and wipe his tears when he’s sad and high five him when he’s not. You encourage and you discipline and you educate and you pray you don’t make any mistakes.
But you will. No matter what you do.
And just when you think you’ve completely screwed up as a parent, this happens.
“I love you, Mom.”
How easy it is to melt the hard away.
But if this blog is any example of the kind of writer I am, I totally suck at it because I haven’t posted anything in almost a
year.
Lately, I’ve been reading blog posts from women who really inspire me (even though one such blogger hates the word ‘inspire’). They tell shit like it is. They write about real life. Not the ‘I’m a mom and a wife and my life is perfect because I’m a mom and wife’ life. But the ‘sometimes things suck and I’m not afraid to admit when they do’ life. And I admire that. Like REALLY admire that.
So I'm trying it. Settle in and read on. Um, please?
I remember when I became a mom, which is a completely different story because I struggle with infertility. And when I say infertility, I mean after countless years of doctors and procedures and medical bills, I’ve been pregnant once – and it didn’t end well. I feel as though somehow, infertility in this day and age is being confused with women who complain that they’ve tried for three months and they still aren’t pregnant (said in my best whiny voice ever). And then on the fourth try, when they see those two lines on the pee stick, it’s a miracle.
Am I envious? You bet.
Am I bitter? Maybe. But let’s move on.
So how did I become a mom, you might wonder? Well, I had to fill out an application. True story.
It was a requirement of the adoption agency. So was an autobiography, counseling with a licensed therapist, a complete medical work up, four letters of recommendation and a background check against the National Child Abuse and Neglect Data System. You know, the normal things you have to do when you want to have a baby (she said sarcastically).
But after all of that, I ended up with a perfect little human being who’s perfectly perfect. Did I mention how perfect he
is?
As a parent, I sort of have a mantra. It’s a line from the movie Terms of Endearment. It was released in 1983, when I was just 10 years old, but this message stuck with me. The movie was a tear-jerker sort of thing about a woman named Emma and all of her trials. She and her mother don’t get along and Emma’s husband takes her away from home because of a
job and then he cheats on her and then she ends up getting cancer and one of her kids hates her and…well…it’s real life. Emma eventually learns that the cancer is going to kill her and she and her husband get together in the hospital to have a heart-to-heart about whether or not he can raise three young kids on his own. Talking about parenthood, Emma says, “As hard as you think it is, you end up wishing it were that easy.”
BOOM. Genius.
I get it. Parenting is hard. Like really hard (in fact, I should probably stop talking about how hard it is because I’m getting the urge to make a “thanks for dealing with me” phone call to my mom). You know that when your child is born, there’s going to be sleepless nights and zombie-like days and a constant cycle of poop and puke and crying. Feed, change, play, sleep, feed, change, play, sleep. Over and over and over.
And then, as they gain a little independence and a little confidence and a little mobility, they start becoming little people with their own thoughts and plans and goals. And your thoughts and plans and goals mean nothing to them. And you keep asking yourself, “When will this get easier?”
The answer? Never. It never gets any easier. Just like Emma said.
But you deal. You deal with the worry and anxiety and fear. And you love your child with all your heart. You hold him and snuggle him and wipe his tears when he’s sad and high five him when he’s not. You encourage and you discipline and you educate and you pray you don’t make any mistakes.
But you will. No matter what you do.
And just when you think you’ve completely screwed up as a parent, this happens.
“I love you, Mom.”
How easy it is to melt the hard away.