Mothahood

Emphasis on the “hood” part of that word.

Tonight (morning actually…it’s 2 AM) while I stood in my living room and swayed back and forth wearing a baby carrier, that in this case could more appropriately resemble a straight jacket…I was thinking about this column and what I could try to muster as a decent introduction for my very first piece of writing in this publication. Hunched over 1 month old Noah, changing his diaper…poopy wet wipes landing where they willed in the darkness…the only word I could hear in my head was “Mothahood”. When I heard the word it sounded really badass, like I was talking about a hood with a ghetto and more than a few questionable street corners. It is from inside of this hood that I decided to write this piece, because frankly…it’s where I’m at!

When I take a step back and look at the full picture of my life I can see clearly that I am an extremely multifaceted person, as are we all…but the only facet getting to reflect the light of day (or night) at this stage on my life, is the motherhood facet. We are 6 children deep into the wildest ride of our lives and there’s no turning back or lessening the intensity of the ups and downs…I’m pretty sure we aren’t even allowed to loosen the lap belt on this ride. And so, while I would deeply enjoy writing a little something about vintage fashion, salvaged from local thrift stores, or the perfect formula for a crusty-on-the-outside-soft-on-the-inside loaf of sourdough bread or even a brief paragraph detailing some gardening tips that I’ve found helpful…I won’t be doing any of those things. Instead, please enjoy small descriptions of what mothahood has been looking like for me lately. These are only small descriptions because my life right now doesn’t allow me a free left hand (my writing hand) for anymore than a few moments here n there. If you can relate to these life snippets, cool…I’ll buy you a drink. If you can’t relate, also cool…I’ll buy you a drink anyway, cause I probably haven’t been out of the house in a while.

Mothahood is….

Hearing people crying on 3 different floors of my home and being able to decipher which of those cries requires immediate, if any, attention.

Smiles and laughter under air filled sheet tents.

A delicious plate of someone else’s cold, forgotten scrambled eggs.

A grumpy morning after a sleepless night of every two hour feedings.

Tiny wet kisses on the staircase after a much needed nap.

Attempting to donate items to the Goodwill…until I’m caught and this useless thing is now priceless!

Carrying a small person, kicking and screaming and punching to their room and gently depositing them into their crib…and then going and flopping down on my own bed in an effort to reclaim even 10% of the energy that was just exerted.

Jeans that don’t fit.

A crusty, soaking crock pot.

Enjoying sports…when I don’t normally enjoy sports.

Reading the same book 100+ times…or more!…until I have the book memorized, prompting it to be recited on long car rides that require that little something extra to make it bearable.

Accomplishing tasks that require two hands, but doing it with only one.

Kissing someones finger after it was bitten…by their own self.

Crying while I sit on the floor of my dark closet, hiding from all of it for a minute.

Finding a booger on my apron that I KNOW doesn’t belong to me.

Someone sitting on my foot while I try to make dinner.

Kindly bringing to someone’s attention that the dirty entryway area rug is not the best place to set down their handfuls of Cheez-Its.

Watching my 5 older kids interact with and enjoy the magic and beauty of a new born baby in the house.

Knowing that even though it is the cutest thing in the world and while I would like for my children to stay little forever, that is not the case. Therefore, my 11 year old daughter needs to know that she may NOT purchase candy from the confession stand, but she may do so at the concession stand.

Crouching down at the top of the stairs while someone yells, “PIG RIDE!” and hops on.

One lengthy bout of refereeing the most illogical argument known to the human race.

Embarrassing grocery store outings.

Coaxing a tiny, naked person out from the middle of a pile of wooden skewers and toppled canned goods after what appears to be the actual pillaging of my pantry.

Handling someone else’s poop SO much more than I ever imagined was possible. Were I to ever submit another resume again in this life, I might be tempted to site “poop handling” as a skill.

Playing soccer in the upstairs hallway.

A bandana strategically positioned over my greasy, unwashed hair.

Pushing people to be the very best version of themselves, while respecting their individuality.

Unloading an entire bottle of Oxy Clean in an effort to save an easter shirt.

Coming up with new and creative ways to discipline all these people, therefore alleviating the boredom and monotony that one might experience from dealing with essentially the same scenarios year after year.

A swift kick in someone else’s ass.

Having gentlemen pick me flowers…ALL the time.

The purest and truest muse that I have ever known.

Mothahood is no joke, but it sure can be funny.