I Have Three Kids

I have three kids.

And, don't misunderstand me, I love them.

Each of them.

Each of them is unique, special, precious

Not in some "special snowflake" way that exempts them from error

But as each beautiful flower has its own petals

Its own veins.

My children are individual, particular, beloved.

Worth it.

But "it" is motherhood,

And motherhood is not easy.

It's dragging sopping kids out of the bathtub again

Because they're in a splash fight

Again.

It's brushing out tangles that hurt more than my own

And answering the phone with a sigh of anticipation

Of the six interruptions that will come in the next two minutes.

It's never sitting still

And it's still having dirty dishes.

"It" is hiding in the bathroom

Wishing I had any chocolate left

But I shared it all

With sticky smiles and grabbing hands.

Motherhood,

Especially while Husband is at work,

(and I am so grateful that I have him at all!)

Is eight thousand tiny prayers

Some in words,

Some in snapshots of the toys I still haven't gotten them to pick up.

It's a vacation of a walk to the mail box

Sometimes when I've already gotten the mail today

Just because it's the only escape I have

Legally speaking.

It's a fierce ache and anxiety in my chest

If we get to leave them with a babysitter tonight

Because we haven't had a night to ourselves in so long.

So. Long.

It's feeling guilty as I type these words

Partly because I'm complaining about something so precious

That hearts break when they can't have it

That my heart would break if I didn't have it

And partly because

"I should be playing with my kids right now."

But motherhood is also–

Must be–

Self-care.

"It" is making sure nobody drowned today at the birthday party

Thank goodness

And also making sure that their little friend will love the birthday gift

Even without any guidance from her mom.

Motherhood is chasing them out of the garage

For the seventeenth time today

Because I know sooner or later if I don't

Someone is going to get hurt.

It's making sure I thank them

For every positive step

Because I know they need that reinforcement

But also

It's thanking them for wiping their bums.

Let that sink in.

Motherhood is Put that thing

Put that thing do–

Put that

Put that thing down now!

It's listening to my single friends brag that they can leave the house

Without searching for tiny shoes

Or anyone, anyone at all,

Screaming at them

But also watching a hunger in their eyes

As my child whispers,

"I love you, Mommy,"

Before she tries to go play in the garage again.

Because that's why we do all of this.

Every peanut butter sandwich

(And every time I don't make peanut butter

Because their friend is allergic)

Every filthy, nasty diaper

Every headache as I push them out to the backyard

Because I can't handle that volume anymore

Every time I steam paint out of the new carpet

Every time I frantically learn the art of locksmithing

Because she's locked in her bedroom

Every snack

And I mean every snack,

Of which there are too many to count

Every time I chase them away from the street

Or around and around with the vacuum

Or into bed again tonight

Every filled water bottle

Every mysteriously sticky spot

Every question I've already answered a hundred times

Every tissue I hold while they blow

Every time out I enforce

Every scream

Every fear

Every wish

Every hope

Every breath

Every beat of my heart

Is because I see in them

Worlds of possibility

Is because they forgive so freely

My many mistakes

Is because they love so sincerely

Is because they hug so tightly

And kiss goodnight so softly

And laugh so wildly

And enjoy so intensely

And care so deeply

And pray so lovingly

And because,

Deep down in my soul,

I know that I would be not just a better mother

But a better person

If I was more like them.