If you had told me seven years ago that I’d spend my days wiping runny noses, changing diapers and breaking up screaming matches, I would’ve called you a liar. And yet, here I am, doing exactly that.
Life as a stay-at-home mom is challenging. Imagine walking on a beach, with waves lapping on the shore. Sounds peaceful, right?
But instead of sand, the ground is made of pointy Lego blocks, you’re stopping every three seconds to mop mucous from your toddler’s face, and the waves are towering swells of dirty, never-ending laundry. Also, the beach is on fire. Welcome to your new life!
Motherhood has been the most rewarding, difficult, relentless thing I’ve ever done. My hat goes off to working parents because I’m clinging to my sanity without the added stress of a nine-to-five.
Gone are the days when I wore pantsuits and typed important documents; now I can barely remember my husband’s phone number (and what’s his name again?).
I used to know how to speak French; yesterday I forgot the word for “train” and called it a “loud, angry bus thingy.” I’m not wrong, just inarticulate.
I’m so grateful to be able to stay at home with three-year-old Andy and six-year-old Molly, but there are days when I want to stuff my ears with mashed potatoes just to experience quiet.
Why are they screaming about who loves the dog more? Why isn’t Andy wearing pants? And why is the floor sticky?
Mysteries like these will never be solved, and if they are, there’ll just be more. This is also my housecleaning philosophy: why bother tidying? It’ll just be messy again tomorrow.
Much like the germs they bring home from school, my love for my kids is abundant, but I need more, sometimes. More sleep, more coffee, and more Botox. More time, more energy and more stimulating conversation wouldn’t hurt either.
The things I need less of? Less crying, less whining and fewer tantrums would be amazing. Less gray hair, less blubber around my waist, and two working knees would be perfect. At this point, if I could get out of bed without groaning in pain, I’d call it a win.
There are more bad days than good, but oh, how sweet the good days are.
Afternoons spent cuddled up reading books, days when giggles are rampant and smiles are sunny, these are the times I cherish in my heart, when I count myself so lucky to watch my children grow. These are the times I struggle to remember when Andy was screaming about his missing sock, and Molly was using acrylic paint as eyeshadow.
Maybe, one day, I’ll put out the fire on that imaginary beach. Maybe, one day, I’ll master the art of parenthood and my sanity will be restored.
That day is not today, because I have to break up another screeching wrestling match and do another load of laundry.
Somebody send coffee!
Sarah L. Hunter is a qathet region writer and exhausted mother of two young children.
