Things I Won't Miss About Being A Mother (of Tiny Humans).
It goes without saying that I am blessed beyond measure for the three little gentlemen you see above that I have the utmost privilege of raising- whose cowlicks I have memorized with my lips as I've buried my face deep in their heads and necks, smuggling kisses from busy little boys as only tired, weary mothers know how. I realize not everyone who yearns for these living, breathing blessings is granted them and before I find myself skewered on a stick, it must be said aloud that I am grateful. I am utterly grateful and cognizant of the gifts I have been given.
But the days are long and the days are hard and just like one complains about the J-O-B they do day in and day out, sometimes I just need to complain about mine. This job I do, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. It doesn't mean I love it any less- it means I'm human, I'm weak and I fail. A lot of the time.
I know Motherhood won't always be this messy, this difficult or this exhausting. Years down the road there will be new challenges, new messes and, I'm sure, new things to complain about (hello, common core), however, there are still some things about Motherhood Here and Now that drive me absolutely insane. Things that, when at the end of a long day, I find myself silently muttering curse words about beneath my breath.
Things that, one day too soon, you'll say, I will miss. But I disagree. I'm fairly certain the following is a list of things that I won't miss. Not really. Not all that much. Things like...
Why is it that kids always ask to have their butts wiped at the most inopportune times? You know, like when you just sat down to watch last week's Revenge on DVR with your thrice reheated mug of coffee nurse the baby or while you're wearing said baby during a "quick" trip into Target that really turns into an "over an hour long walkabout because the middle child refuses to ride in the cart and the collective we couldn't hold it until we get home." So there you are, wearing a baby, jammed into a tiny stall with two other children, holding your toddler by the belt loops so he can't lick the floors all while trying to wipe your four year old's butt. I cannot wait until the era of butt wiping is over. Whenever I think about having a fourth baby, I now strongly consider that it would just be another butt to wipe for four more years, give or take.
For the love of all things holy, why do kids needs to eat so much and so often? I don't know what it is about lunch but it runs a very close second to dinner as being my least favorite meal of the day. I know it's only going to get worse when the boys are school age and I'll have to pack their lunches on the daily but there's just something about any meal after breakfast that requires any kind of forethought and preparation that makes me want to gouge my eyes out with cheese sticks. And this is without the undue pressure of creating meal time masterpieces with cookie cutters, plastic googly eyes and food paint. This is just your regular run of the mill slap-some-peanut-butter-on-some-bread-and-cute-it-in-triangles lunch. I think my hatred of said meal time is that by the time I've prepared the lunches, served the lunches and prepared my own lunch, the heathens have finished theirs and moved onto smearing leftover peanut butter on the table, the chairs and each other.
Changing the Crib Sheet
I'm convinced there are few things harder to do in the middle of the night and on less than three hours of sleep than change a crib sheet. And yes, I know that trick about the layering. The one where you dress a mattress with a waterproof pad and additional sheet below the existing waterproof pad crib sheet but despite that trick, it still doesn't eradicate the step that involves untying forty-seven strings to remove the bumper, followed by shimmying the mattress up high enough and tilting it at the precise angle so as to allow you to remove the sheets from the actual mattress. Once that's done, you've already broken a sweat and you still need to set the mattress back into the crib, retie the bumper strings, change a baby, nurse the baby and then wander back into your bed where you have approximately three more hours until someone else needs something from you.
The more kids you have, the less sleep you get. It's like one of those A+B=C math equations. Although in this case, it's more like A+B+C * A (with a cough) + B (with nightmares) + C (nursing baby) = (Lack thereof) Sleep. Unless you were blessed with magic children, it's pretty much a guarantee that you will wake up at least once a night until the youngest child is fifteen. And then by that time, the oldest will be driving and you'll never sleep again. But seriously- I haven't sleep a decent night's sleep since 2009. Someone is always coughing and if they aren't coughing and they're sleeping, the coughing has woken them up. The baby doesn't want to miss out on the action and decides when he's awake that he'd like to eat, too and by then, everyone is awake at 4am... except your husband. I won't miss not sleeping. Ever.
I'm not a sharer by nature, especially when it comes to things like food. My food is my food and chances are the tiny human demanding "just one bite, I SAID PWEASE" isn't going to like it any way but despite the warning, they still insist on taking a giant, messy bite- the kind of bite that usually forces the burger patty through the other side of the bun and mustard in your lap, the kind of bite that is the best part of the bagel shmeared with cream cheese, the MIDDLE knot of the soft pretzel, and so on. But because I'm a nice mom (or is it because I hate confrontation?) I give in and share a bite and spend the following three minutes sulking.
We as mothers know the solution to this last one is the oft-cliche eating in the bathroom with the door shut but I already spend so much time wiping butts in there that the last thing I want to do is eat a meal in there...