I am a Parent

Sometimes, after I have yelled and hit my head against the wall in frustration, I look at your face and count your freckles.

When I am too tired to keep my eyes open at night, I stumble past the cluttered coffee table and nearly burst into tears at the sight of the kitchen sink. I see that you’ve used four different cups in the last four hours, then I sneak into your room and give you kisses while you sleep.

I sigh at your attitude and 10 minutes later I grab you for a hug. My shoulders slump when I see your mountain of laundry on the basement floor, but as I fold your shirts I smile at how much you’ve grown.

I want to stomp my feet because it’s impossible to get you to bed on time, and in the morning I am happy to hear your footsteps when you climb out of bed and I know we’re about to start another day together.

This job – this blessing – it is work and happiness and exhaustion and sunshine. It is tears, sleepless nights, worry-filled days, and joy beyond compare. It’s being thrilled for how far you’ve come and being frozen in fear when I think about the future.

I am proud, I am scared, I am confident, I am confused.

I am a parent.

Comments

Felicity

Wednesday, 23 January, 2013 at 20:39

This is so beautiful. It’s always the kitchen and laundry! No freckles on mine so I count curls. Thank you for sharing this. I enjoyed it. Probably more than in the day since mine are down and could get through it in one sitting!

Momo Fali

Thursday, 24 January, 2013 at 13:20

It took me a half hour yesterday to respond to an email. I had to type about two sentences, but I was interrupted about 20 times.

Paula

Wednesday, 23 January, 2013 at 21:15

Love this! I live this! I thought I was the only one .

Thank you!

Momo Fali

Thursday, 24 January, 2013 at 21:50

Solidarity!

Jamie@SouthMainMuse

Thursday, 24 January, 2013 at 5:24

” nearly burst into tears at the sight of the kitchen sink.” I do burst into tears sometimes after walking into the kitchen. I have stayed home from church (and would probably every Sunday) to clean the kitchen. The thought of coming home to start my Sunday afternoon cleaning the kitchen makes me cry. It’s good to know I’m not alone. And good to be reminded that the little messers won’t be with me forever.

mare

Thursday, 24 January, 2013 at 8:47

Perfect. Every mom can relate.

Arnebya

Thursday, 24 January, 2013 at 9:56

I don’t nearly burst into tears at the sight of the sink or the laundry pile, but I do nearly (and sometimes completely) burst into COME THE F*CK ON! And yes, at 10:00 I am rolling my eyes that she is still not in the bed and at 10:20 when I no longer hear her moving around I want to go up and stare at her. When she’s still in the bathroom 30 minutes after going in, my level of COME THE F*CK ON shoots through the roof but the minute she emerges I want to ask if she needs more anything. Stop talking. Please stop talking, COME THE F*CK ON WHY ARE YOU STIIIIIIIIIIIILL TALKING. And then when I notice the quiet, that she’s stopped talking, I’m seeking her out to talk about mundane things because the silence from her voice no longer being there is excruciating, please don’t leave me.

Megan

Thursday, 24 January, 2013 at 10:54

Just perfect. Thank you for making my day, reminding me of how my son drives me crazy yet makes my heart burst with love. It’s not easy being a partent of a teen.