I cried today.
I cried because it’s hard. It’s hard to juggle it all and I feel like I’m always dropping a ball (and an F-bomb). It’s hard but I feel lucky to have this struggle. I feel lucky to have two perfect, healthy children that drive me completely insane.
I cried because I’m never alone but I’m kinda lonely. I just want to have a complete thought (and/or bowel movement) and a moment to myself… but I’d also love a conversation about more than bowel movements and why you shouldn’t grab your genitals in public and why eating gum off the bottom of restaurant tables is not an option for lunch.
I cried because I feel like I ask for help too often. I cried because I feel like I don’t actually get that much help and I’m drowning. I feel like others seem to be able to cope (but I know that there are others floundering in my pool). I feel like others think I should pull my whiny ass together.
I cried because I feel like I look like a hot mess with my greasy hair, ill fitting and three day old outfit, no make-up face and puffy eyes. I know I’m beautiful but I don’t always feel that way. My body is amazing and strong but society thinks I’m a flabby mom-mess that’s a perfect candidate for the 21-day fix or Isogenix or Thrive or any of that bullshit.
I cried because I feel like I work really hard… but I’m not really sure what I do all day. I know I’m busy, too busy to shower or poop, but every day my husband comes home and the house is a mess, dinner is half done and I look like Miley Cyrus ready for rehab.
I cried because every thing I do is immediately undone right behind me and I feel like I’m trying to fill a sieve.
But, mostly I cried because I spent an hour in Costco with two toddlers (one of which has figured out how to unbuckle the child restraint in the cart) who demanded to find the forklift that he could hear beeping, insisted on trying samples of things he hates and screamed we were going the wrong way every time I turned a corner. After a major shop I lifted my rotisserie chicken up to put it on the conveyor belt (because who has time to cook dinner with a 1-year-old and a two-year-old?!) and the plastic case busted and the entire contents, including all the drippings, spilled on top of my $215 worth of groceries. And the larger toddler jumped up and down on the seat of the buggy declaring he was ready to “come out now” as I tried to reclaim my cart, dignity and chicken from the polished cement floor of Costco.
I feel lucky to have the problems I have… but that doesn’t mean I find it easy. I am grateful for my children and I love them very much but that doesn’t mean I find it easy. I have the BEST friends but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel lonely sometimes. I have a wonderful spouse but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel alone in the struggles of raising our children from time to time (this includes me having a post-baby-body that I’m not totally secure about).
The last few years have taught me that the process is the pinnacle of focus. Not the outcome. Outcomes are for the end. It’s the end when you’re dead. I’m in a process and I’m trying to be more gentle with myself because I’m not done yet! I got this (or I’m getting it😂)
(Note: I wrote this in five sittings over two days and I’m posting now because I want to actually post it but this really happened a few months ago)