The Consequence of Bearing Children
See these adorable children?
Yes, those are MY adorable children. The ones that I carried in my belly for 9 months each, labored to deliver into this world, and spend a majority of my time providing food, clothing and shelter for. During my waking hours, I'm either taking care of them, or thinking about how to take care of them. When I'm sleeping I dream about them, either replaying wonderful memories with them, or dreaming horrible nightmares about some potential parenting failure.
I constantly worry about whether I'm being a good mom, feeding them the right things, or disciplining them enough (or too much). Do they have enough stimulating activities? Am I reading enough books? Should we spend more time outside so they don't have a vitamin D deficiency? Do they watch too much TV? Do they get enough sleep? Why can't I get them to eat more vegetables? Am I teaching them enough?
I've come a long way in my role as a parent. I have accepted the fact that my house will never be remotely clean except from the hours of 9pm - 6am. I have come to realize that my daughter will not spontaneously explode if she eats macaroni and cheese for six straight days. I don't even get upset when Parker breaks not one, but two lamps, because he is so fascinated with lights. No matter how much conditioner I use, Ainsley will always cry when I brush her hair before school. I know that getting Parker to take medicine requires 5 pair of hands and a ratchet strap.
However every time I look at my children, I also think about all the things I love about being a mother. I love the smell of their hair after a bath. I love holding Parker while he sleeps. I love their laughter. I love the way Parker looks at Ainsley - like she's the best, most exciting thing in the entire world. I love the strange questions that I have to answer, and explaining complex things with a simple definition. I love how Ainsley snores and talks in her sleep the same way I do. I love watching them play, and how they make ordinary toys into extraordinary magical objects. I love that every time I look at them I see their father. I love wiping away their tears, even if I'm the one who caused them. I love their snuggles.
All of these things that I love about my children, all of the sacrifices I make every day to raise them and take care of them. And what do I get in return? GREY HAIR.
Yes, those are MY adorable children. The ones that I carried in my belly for 9 months each, labored to deliver into this world, and spend a majority of my time providing food, clothing and shelter for. During my waking hours, I'm either taking care of them, or thinking about how to take care of them. When I'm sleeping I dream about them, either replaying wonderful memories with them, or dreaming horrible nightmares about some potential parenting failure.
I constantly worry about whether I'm being a good mom, feeding them the right things, or disciplining them enough (or too much). Do they have enough stimulating activities? Am I reading enough books? Should we spend more time outside so they don't have a vitamin D deficiency? Do they watch too much TV? Do they get enough sleep? Why can't I get them to eat more vegetables? Am I teaching them enough?
I've come a long way in my role as a parent. I have accepted the fact that my house will never be remotely clean except from the hours of 9pm - 6am. I have come to realize that my daughter will not spontaneously explode if she eats macaroni and cheese for six straight days. I don't even get upset when Parker breaks not one, but two lamps, because he is so fascinated with lights. No matter how much conditioner I use, Ainsley will always cry when I brush her hair before school. I know that getting Parker to take medicine requires 5 pair of hands and a ratchet strap.
However every time I look at my children, I also think about all the things I love about being a mother. I love the smell of their hair after a bath. I love holding Parker while he sleeps. I love their laughter. I love the way Parker looks at Ainsley - like she's the best, most exciting thing in the entire world. I love the strange questions that I have to answer, and explaining complex things with a simple definition. I love how Ainsley snores and talks in her sleep the same way I do. I love watching them play, and how they make ordinary toys into extraordinary magical objects. I love that every time I look at them I see their father. I love wiping away their tears, even if I'm the one who caused them. I love their snuggles.
All of these things that I love about my children, all of the sacrifices I make every day to raise them and take care of them. And what do I get in return? GREY HAIR.
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