There is a cute picture of me and my kiddos on Facebook today. The caption says Happy Mother’s Day! And we have each managed, at the very least, half smiles. I have it made. Not one, but two healthy children and I promise you I know that.
What you don’t see though is the colossal meltdown that happened at noon during bike riding time or the refusal and later relenting on the issue of much needed naps. There is no sign of all the mornings spent crying in carline – first from the kid and later from the mom. There is no trace of the stomach bug. There is just that one shiny, happy moment.
I used to think that was a farce, but I realized today again that we need those screenshots of time when the going gets tough. You need to remember when, for example your child insists there is a word for the letter S and you can’t tell it to her because (drumroll, please) YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING, that she is the same person who snuggled your cheek and said she loved you and wanted you to have the best Mother’s Day ever. Looking back on pictures from taking them home from the hospital was necessary to remind me that I was young once and then again so was my idea of parenting altogether.
Even with the tantrums and the overwhelmingness of it all, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. That seems so cliché and lazy of a statement to make but I mean it. I am here every day, doing my best, worrying that I am screwing it all up because there is nowhere else I would rather be and no one else I would rather be with. It was, in fact, a mother of a day, in every sense of the word and yet , it was perfect.