I knew when I became a mother that I would be privy to a love I had only imagined, and sure enough I was right. Every day I am rewarded with the joy of being a parent, and that’s probably a good thing. After all, if it wasn’t for that overflowing feeling of pride when I gaze at my lovely daughters, I would probably strangle them in those particular moments when that fleeting thought enters my head. Just being honest.
Motherhood is the most wonderful thing I have ever experienced, and though the hours are long, the pay nonexistent, and the bosses are incredibly demanding, I still wouldn’t trade it for the world. I love being a mommy. But there are certain tasks that have come with motherhood that I never knew were in store.
I never realized that I would become an automatic bellhop, required to carry all my kid’s “luggage” on every little excursion. A simple run to the local store requires bags of goodies, refreshments, and a favorite toy or three. And while children run wild, Mom is left holding the spoils.
“Here Mom. Can you hold this?”
But I discovered this request isn’t strictly for discarded dolls. It seems I am the holder of gum that has lost its flavor, masticated food that doesn’t taste like they hoped it would, or any number of empty wrappers or spent tissues.
Yep, I’m a trash receptacle. Among other parenting gems.
I’m a referee, a peacekeeper, if you will, negotiating treaties amongst the warring natives. And not a very good one at that.
I’m a mode of transportation when little feet grow weary, but no one ever wants to repay the favor.
I’m a mind reader, and an imaginative, story-teller extraordinaire. I can come up with games on the fly to play in waiting rooms everywhere and road trips aplenty.
I’m a butt-wiping, nose-blowing, detangler of unruly hair. I can cut up a hotdog into small, safe pieces in record time, and pull a string cheese out of my purse in a moment’s notice. If that’s what you’re into.
My lap is the most coveted place on planet earth, second only to the bathroom when I want to use it. My shirt makes the best napkin around when dirty fingers need wiping, and it makes an even better tissue for snotty noses. Plus my bed is the comfiest one in the house; just ask anyone.
I am a perfect nursemaid when little ones feel ill, yet interestingly enough, when I am sick, it’s business as usual. Hmmm.
It must be my mommy magic that makes me not require food, rest, or time alone. My powers certainly do wonders in drying all tears and healing all booboo’s with a simple kiss of my lips. Actually, that part’s pretty cool. But sometimes I do wish someone would hold me and let me cry my eyes out. I guess that’s where daddies come in, huh?
Most days I feel as if I wear more hats than any person should, be it a chef’s toque or chauffeur cap, but I suppose I wouldn’t have it any other way. I guess you could say I like hats. Multiple, hardworking hats. And my momma hat fits me just right.
Plus the hugs are cool. Really cool.
Even though I didn’t realize I’d yearn constantly for a shower alone, miss perfect silence, or weep in the bathroom because I think I’m a parenting failure, at the end of the day I suppose I’m okay with being a trash receptacle. I mean, somebody has to throw away used gum, right?