As I write this, I am in bed, and it’s only 9:17 pm. That’s an early bedtime, even for me. I sit here on my husband’s side of the bed with a pillow on my lap, a laptop on top of that, and a million thoughts stewing around in my head.
You see, the reason I am in my bed and not watching Netflix with the hubs or doing work is the same reason I am not laying on my side of the bed right now. The reason is a two-foot tall, opinionated, clingy mama’s girl that is my daughter; my youngest, Harper Belle.
Poor Harper has been dealing with enlarged tonsils for a quite a while, and we finally have surgery scheduled for her. But, that’s not even the issue tonight. Nope, tonight my munchkin has a fever. One that we have been treating appropriately with fever meds and lukewarm baths, but despite our efforts, it keeps returning.
She’s mushy, a bit fussy, and ONLY WANTS MOMMY.
I should be eating up all the attention she wants to give.
I should be relishing in the fact that I am someone’s “favorite”.
I should make the most of this time with her while she is young because, as everyone likes to assure me, there will come a time in the not so distant future that she won’t want and need her momma as much as she does right now.
I should be ashamed of myself for wanting space.
I should feel guilty for not desiring to take part in night-long snuggle-sesh, and I should be mortified that I have now disclosed to you the selfish attitude I tend to hold and the fact that I get slightly peeved whenever I have my free time stolen from me.
But — NEWS FLASH — it’s not always easy to be the who is always needed; it’s just not.
Plain and simple, there are days when I feel over-touched, over-talked to, over-needed, over-questioned, and overwhelmed.
I mean who wouldn’t feel that way having three pint-sized curious and amazing human beings in their presence with whom they are responsible for keeping alive, healthy, and mostly happy.
It’s really freakin’ hard work, and it is really demanding and draining — physically and emotionally.
Yet, my mere admittance that motherhood exhausts me and my disclosure that my sick child’s desire to have me nearby causes me menial amounts frustration, DOES NOT mean I don’t care for her or my other children, OR that I don’t recognize just how lucky and blessed that I am to have birthed them and have them in my life.
Yes — it is grinding and fatiguing to be a parent, especially a mother, but it is beautiful, too.
While it is possible to find beauty in the obvious, it’s a pretty impressive skill to be able to find beauty hidden within challenges and to be able to do such despite being worn out.
I may moan and groan more often that I should, but the fact remains that I am still doing it — I am showing up every day and I am mothering and mothering well — I’m just adding in a few complaints in for good measure and stress release.
It’s okay to be tired. It’s okay to feel like you are over-tasked and under-appreciated because the reality is that you probably are. But, how freakin’ laudable of you to have these moments of being needed, day in and day out, for 2, 6, 12, 18 years or beyond and for you to still be going at it; still “accepting your fate” and stepping up to the plate every day.
Listen, mamas (and daddies) —
It is more than okay to want to feel needed a little bit less, but the surprising (maybe) and beautiful thing about being needed by those we birthed, is that we grow, each day, not only in our appreciation for those whom we love and who love us, but also in our ability to selflessly give of ourselves to them (and even let them dictate to us an early bedtime).
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