You Might Be a Mom...

I always wanted it. Dreamed of it. Wished for it. Couldn't wait for it. 

Now I'm in it. Motherhood: the most challenging and exhausting yet rewarding and completely amazing thing you could ever experience.

It's hard being a working mom. It's hard being a stay-at-home mom. It's all hard. It's easy to get wrapped up in life, too busy to slow down and live in a a state of wonder. I'll never forget a blog post I read from a mom feeling guilty for always hurrying her kids along, not allowing them to fully take life in, ask questions, touch and feel, find and discover. Just stamp "Guilty" on my forehead why don'tcha. In order to keep our house running, my peeps well fed, and my place of work happy with my output, I much too often get "too busy". This morning on my day off, I decided to sloowww down and truly enjoy my time with L. The only thing I planned to accomplish was grocery shopping. So L and I woke up, got ready (kind of), and went to the store...in...no...hurry. And I noticed so much... 

She gave me her first grocery request as we passed the blackberries. It was as if she spotted a puppy when she pointed to them. It was so cute I couldn't say no. Plus, who can say no to fruit? Then in went the tomatoes- they're like candy to her. (She gets it from Grandma). We stopped near the vegetable produce and she exclaimed, "More!" Veggies? No, no... she just wanted the produce to get sprayed again. Towards the end of our trip she was nearing a meltdown and laid her face down on the side of the cart. [Just keep pushing and hope for the best.] As we stopped at the bread, she looked up and again said, "More!" It took me a minute to realize she wanted the cart to move again so that her cheek would vibrate against it. So in a circle we went. 

As I finally finished loading the car, I opened the back door. My attempt to place her in the car seat and head home was put on hold as she excitedly pointed to my seat. "Oh, you want to drive?!" I asked. Yes. Yes, she did.

We did eventually make it home. I pulled into the garage, and we sat in the car for a second as I sang along as loud as I could to the music playing on the radio. I stopped and turned around to see an elated toddler clapping and screaming, (you guessed it) "More!" [And that's the only time anyone will ever clap at the conclusion of my singing.]

It's not always fun and games. Nayyy... It is not. But if you don't stop every once in a while and soak in all that motherhood has to offer, you are sadly minimizing the amazing gift God intended it to be. 

We all experience it differently, but I'm just sure we can relate to a few things. (Wink, wink). Sometimes I have to pinch myself in order to believe I'm actually a mom now. Other times life just screams, "You're a mom!" The following list encompasses it all and will only get longer with time...

Yoouuu might be a mom if:

You find baby hair bows in your coat pocket, toys in your bed (not that kind), or a three-month old bottle behind your bed (with some scientific stage of milk in it.)

You find puffs in random places. You know what "puffs" are.

You say "poo-poo" and "stinky" more times more times in a day than you care to admit.

You can't figure out how your dry shampoo is gone again...already!

You start shopping at Target- like a lot...

Going grocery shopping by yourself produces the same relaxing feeling you get from a trip to the spa-Wait, what is that?

Your washing machine load size is most often set on "small."

You understand that "nap-time" is comparable to receiving a million dollars with only two hours to spend it.

You secretly feel satisfied watching other children misbehave and think to yourself, "Thank God, mine is normal."

(We'll call this one a "mild fit").

You sometimes feel so physically and emotionally tired and desperately in need of a break, you wish your child would go away. The moment they're away, you miss them.

You don't remember what it felt like to shower off the clock- or maybe even just shower for that matter.

You sometimes feel as though you have more arms, hands, fingers, and [yes, even toes] than you thought. (Monkey toes are a real bonus).

You eat like someone is going to run by within a matter of minutes and steal your food.

It feels like you're going on a road trip every time you leave the house, and you pack as though you're never returning.

You find no shame in dancing like a wasted old white woman just to catch a smile.

You know it is possible to feel completely exhausted and completely happy at the same time.

You give other moms the "mom smile" out in public because you instantly feel the bond (and pain...if you're trying to shop).

You have no clue what hit music songs are these days but you can sing baby songs word for word-- and you do often because they play in your head like "the song that never ends..."

Your body just ain't the same as it once was...enough said.

When you think about someone ever hurting your child's feelings, your blood reaches unhealthy temperatures.

Your heart has grown ten sizes; it hurts much easier but loves even stronger .

You feel like you're melting when you hear your child giggle. A belly laugh? Immediately a puddle of wax on the floor.

You don't remember what it felt like before children and you wonder how you ever felt complete without them.

You think and say really cheesy things -such as above- but you don't even care because they're true.

You get choked up [and cry] over any of the following: sad or just plain sweet stories on the radio, friends' blog posts, surprise birthday parties ... seriously?! Seriously.

And lastly...You feel like the luckiest person in the world- every single day.

...........

What would you add?

Call in the Panda

Sometimes you just have to call in the Panda.  Let me explain…

Happy jibber-jabber echoed from the back seat of my car as Leighton and I headed home this afternoon.  My head continued pounding, eyes glazed over, and nose nearly bursting from my horribly awesome sickness which is no longer deniable. I sound like a man-toad too.  I called the husband, only to find out he would be home late from work.  As usual, in the matter of minutes I remained on the phone, my mischievous daughter began pouring milk from her bottle onto her lap.  It’s as if she likes watching me try to drive straight while simultaneously reaching backwards to end her game.  At least this time she didn’t move the bottle just enough centimeters away from my fingers that I couldn’t actually grab it. Then grin from ear-to-ear as she watched me fumble for it. (I wish that was a joke.) 

When we arrived home, I began the normal routine.  Let the dog out of its crate, watch the dog jump around like crazy,… let the dog out to go potty. {Am I the only one that still refers to it as such?} Then, because sometimes I believe my child actually has a desire to behave (buried deep within), I left her inside so I could grab another load from the car. (And to think I used to get out of the car with only a purse.)  I walked back inside to find L splashing in the dog crate. "Where did the water from?", you ask. Oh, just out of our dog’s bowl she dumped upside-down in the thirty seconds it took me to travel roundtrip to the garage.  A few minutes later, I found myself stomping water out of the carpet, which did wonders for my sinus headache.

My mouth was now watering for the amazingly spicy Buffalo Chicken Salads I planned to make for dinner. I started to clean up the kitchen, put away bottles, and clean up lunch containers when I realized I was still in normal clothes. Unbelievable.  The way I feel when I’m at home in "outside” clothes is probably the way a nudist feels when he has to wear clothes—extremely uncomfortable. L followed me back to my room so I could put on my house clothes, which typically consists of yoga pants and a sweatshirt.  This is going to sound like I made it up, but as I walked around my bed, I found L splashing her hands in water on my nightstand.  Not only that, but she was drenched, and water was dripping out of my nightstand drawer.  This time she’d found my water cup.  As with the crate-water incident, I raised my voice, and firmly grabbed her and made her sit down while I cleaned up the mess.  Now my throat was sorer than before, and I was beyond irritated with her.  I one-by-one grabbed soaking items out of my nightstand drawer to dry them off.  {Side note: I found pepper spray and a tattoo design. 1. What good is pepper spray going to do when it’s buried in your nightstand? “Hold on…I know it’s here somewhere.” And 2. L grabbed the design and shredded it, so I guess I’ll have to pick a new one. Don’t worry, Mom, it’ll never actually happen.}    

I returned to the kitchen; but at this point, this sick and tired mama was nearing to her breaking point.  Then all of the sudden, it came to me—an idea, a solution, a way out of making dinner.  I called the husband and said, “I’m this close to rolling up in a ball, finding a corner, and slowly rocking back and forth. What I really mean to say is...Can you please pick up Panda on your way home?”

I sheepishly took off my “super-mom” badge, said “forget you” to some dishes, and heavily sighed.  If anything was being made in the kitchen, it wasn’t happening with my weary hands.  Nay, I was going to unapologetically devour a sodium-rich Panda bowl (something I might actually be able to taste). However, there was one thing I’d forgotten to do…One very important thing. Give it up. Give it all up to God. I quickly asked him to step in- or something along those lines.  (You know, one of those times you're feeling too stubborn to ask for much else.)

Within moments, I felt my grumpiness fade. I sprawled out onto the floor with L.  Over and over again I answered the question, “Wussat?! Wussat?! (What’s that?) as we watched her creepily silly baby show together. I danced like only Leighton was watching. She bulldozed over me the way she does with our 90 lb dog, kneeing my boobs in the process; but leaving my cheek with a kiss.  I forgot about how much I despise our dog-hair filled carpet as we played together on the floor.  Equally unimportant to me became our messy, well-lived in house.  As L jumped on me once again, I realized there’s nothing a little talk with God, playing with your child, and some Orange Chicken can’t cure.