#momlife

Being a mom is hard.

I know, I just dropped a bombshell, right?

The words could not be any more true. And from where I am standing right now? Being a mom doesn't get any easier.

I remember thinking that being a mom was hard when Noah was little. I was young and had ZERO patience. There was one time when I was SO frustrated with him that I yelled at him for not knowing how to ride his bike. I was SURE that he could do it, he just wasn't because he was being stubborn. So, I made a spectacle of the situation, and threw his bike in the trashcan.

Whoa. Yep. That moment still haunts me. He was three years old. I remember thinking then that being a mom was hard.

I was 21 when I first moved out of my mom's house. Jason and I had it all figured out, naturally. Then, a few months into us living on our own, he lost his job. We were so, incredibly broke. We didn't have cable for months. We had our cell phones turned off on multiple occasions. I ran out of gas on the side of 94 and walked with Noah to get gas for our car. There was one time in particular when I dug for change in our couch cushions so that I could split a McDouble and a medium fry with Noah for dinner.

I remember thinking then that being a mom was hard.

In 2012, when we found out we were having another baby, we were so excited- a little nervous- but overall we couldn't wait to begin a new adventure as 4 instead of 3. When I was about 8 months pregnant I realized that something was very wrong. I couldn't stand, sit, eat, breathe, sleep, without being in pain. It was chalked up to pregnancy issues, but it felt like something else. Three days after getting home from the hospital I remember crawling, barely, into my mom's room, crying because the pain was so intense. I remember getting to the hospital, with my newborn baby, and finding out that I was having complications with my Crohn's. I remember the ER doctor telling me it was my fault, and that I shouldn't have had children. I remember being told after countless visits to the ER, that the only way I would ever get better was to have yet another major surgery. I remember getting a PICC line so that I could be fed through a tube for the 4 weeks leading up to my surgery. I remember going through surgery, and being so happy it was over, only to find out that the surgery had led to other complications which would continue for two months after the surgery. I remember doing all of this, trying to take care of a newborn baby and a kindergartener. I remember rocking Tripp in his little monkey seat, crying, wondering how I was ever going to get through this time in my life.

I remember thinking then that being a mom was hard.

When I finally started coming through that season of my life I felt like I could handle anything. I felt strong as a mother. I made it through, and I did it because I had my family helping me every step of the way, and my boys cheering me on. I made it through because I had no other choice. I couldn't wait to watch my babies grow, and nothing was going to stop me.

Fast forward to last year, when I was a first year teacher. Being a first year teacher is HARD. WORK. Being a wife is HARD. WORK. Being a mom is HARD. WORK. I was worn down, I was stressed, I was disconnected. I wasn't giving my 100% to my kids, my husband, or my job. I knew I wasn't. I physically couldn't. And then the guilt set in. The guilt of not being able to be 100% for everyone. My kids always needed me. They needed me emotionally, physically, mentally, all the time. And I just couldn't. I was depressed, and completely and utterly lost. By the grace of God (and friends, family, and medication :)) I made it through.

That was a tough time. I remember thinking that being a mom was getting harder. But it was a job I was pretty invested in, so I decided to stick it out.....(ha-ha).

And here we are, September 2018.

When you first have those sweet little bundles of joy you savor every minute...for maybe the first 3 days. Then reality sets in, and so does exhaustion. Of course you still love that little peanut with everything you have, but you start wishing things.

"I wish the baby would sleep through the night"

"I wish the baby would drink from my left boob as much as he drinks from my right."

"I wish the baby would not want to eat at all, because my nipples are cracked and bleeding."

"I wish I would have remembered to cover him with a pee-pee teepee before he just soaked his ENTIRE new outfit."

"I wish I didn't have to carry this pumpkin seat around that is literally 75 pounds."

"I wish I didn't have to buy diapers anymore."

"I wish I could sleep in for once."

All of these little wishes go through our minds, as we silently wish for our children to grow up.

Be careful, my friends, for what you wish for.

Last week, one of my children told me, repeatedly, that he wished that I wasn't his mom. He named off a list of mom's that were better than me. Everything I did was SO STUPID. He hated me, and he hated our family.

Last week, one of my other children told me, that if he had the choice, he would always choose going to his grandparents house. Daddy and I are boring. It isn't any fun at our house, because we have rules and chores. He counts down the days until he gets to leave.

Last week, one of my other children chucked a sippy cup full of milk straight at my head because I wouldn't read him another book for bedtime. I snapped, and spanked his little behind. That's right, world. I spanked my child.

I spent a lot of time last week reflecting on my journey as a mom. I realized that, even through all of the other "hard times" I have gone through, I might be entering the hardest. I am entering a time when my littles aren't so little anymore. I am entering a time where they will start to crave more freedom and less time with Jason and I. The stalling at bedtime is getting less and less. The climbing out of bed to come cuddle on the couch is not nearly as prevalent as it once was. If they fall down, they don't always run to me for comfort. If someone wrongs them, it isn't always me they look to for advice...and to go along with that, the advice I used to give was always stellar. Now, the looks I get when I offer advice could kill.

I don't have a happy ending for this blog post. Realizing that my boys don't need me as much as they once did gives me a pit in my stomach that I cannot shake.

What I do have is a group of women who I can lean on who have gone through the same thing. What I do have is a husband who shares the joys and pains of parenting with me. What I do have is a love for these three little humans that is greater than anything I have ever experienced.

This season might be hard- but I have faith that it is worth it. Every tear, struggle, and fight will be worth it. Because in the end, I'll love them forever, I'll like them for always, as long as I'm living, my babies they'll be.