Dear Kids,
Mommy loves you very much. More than anything in fact. But I need some space.
I am a mom of two beautiful little boys, Nash (2), and Jax (1). They are the light of my life, the missing pieces of my heart, the reason I breathe, and any other cliches you can come up with.
You get it, I’m freaking obsessed with them! And if you are a parent I’m sure you are just as crazy about your little tykes too.
But can I be honest here? I need some f*cking space!
It’s no secret that becoming a parent means sacrificing a great deal of your time, freedom, and space. (..Plus your food, money, and bits of your sanity.) But I don’t think any amount of forewarning can truly prepare a woman for how all-consuming motherhood is.
As a stay at home mom with two boys, two and under, I am needed from the moment my feet hit the ground in the morning until their heads hit the bed at night.
Needed physically to breastfeed, to wipe tiny bums, cuddle, carry, cook, and clean. Needed emotionally to soothe, comfort, teach, entertain, and discipline.
Every morning I wake to the sound of my youngest son thumping around in his crib over the baby monitor. I peel myself from my bed, put on a robe, brush my teeth, then make my way to his room.
He is the sweetest baby and usually greets me with a smile while bouncing up and down, excited to be free from his tiny baby prison. I pick him up, kiss his squishy cheek, and barely have time to breathe in his sweet baby scent before he is dive-bombing my boobs. Ahh, the real reason he was bouncing cheerfully, the woman with the milk jugs is here.
And it begins.
My oldest son, Nash, is in the thick of the terrific-terrible twos. He is amazing, sweet, and makes me laugh a hundred times a day. He’s also non-stop bounce off the walls crazy too. I don’t know if it’s his age or his personality (probably a bit of both), but he can be a pretty rough kid. At the end of most days, my body is dotted with random bruises, scratches, and the odd set of teeth marks (..yea we’re working on that).
Some days I feel like there isn’t a single moment when I am not being pawed at by someone. It can get overwhelming.
I’ve always been an introvert. I need quiet, alone time to recharge or else I will crash. Sometimes after I’ve cried, yelled, or ripped someone’s head off.
I’ve also never been a touchy-feely kind of person. I can’t count the number of times someone has stated “you’re not much of a hugger are you” after receiving one of my awkward, stiff, embraces. There’s no cryptic reason behind it, I just don’t love a lot of physical touch.
Now, it’s a very different story when it comes to my family and particularly my children. There’s nothing on the planet that feels as tender as a hug or kiss from your child. I cuddle those kids until they’re squirming, trying to break free of my grip while I sneak one last sniff of their heads.
But warm couch cuddles while watching movies, slobbery “wuv you mommy” kisses, and snuggles and stories before bed are not the sort of touches I want space from.
It’s the whiny tugging at my pant leg while I’m trying to make dinner. It’s the mid-tantrum smack to the face. The pull of my ponytail or the quick but forceful yank on my earring. Those are the touches that after a while, feel suffocating.
Both of my kids have their clingy days. The ones where they want to be carried everywhere, held, bounced, or coddled a little extra. Lately, Jax has been having more of those days than not. I love holding him. What I don’t love is when he screams bloody murder if I put him down. Which always results in me continuing to carry him while I tend to everything else that is demanding me.
Now, listen-I realize it may sound like I’m complaining. But that’s only because I am. (I think we’re entitled to from time to time.)
I know that these are the ups and downs of motherhood. And yes, the ups greatly outweigh the downs. These are the days I will miss when they’re gone. I will surely long for one more day with my clingy baby when he’s an independent teenager who doesn’t need his mommy. I’m grateful, blessed, and generally, I am very happy.
I’m also tired. Drained. And worn out.
By day’s end I often feel as if every bit of me has been used up. Not a shred left physically or mentally.
Being a parent is exhausting. It’s overwhelming and doesn’t come with a manual. I often wonder if I’m doing it all wrong.
But I love my kids fiercely. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t kiss and hug them hundreds of times. They are meant to be mine, and I theirs. I never question that.
We are allowed to feel things on all ends of the spectrum when it comes to this parenting thing. We’re allowed to want to rush through rough patches while also wanting time to slow down.
We don’t stop being human when we become mothers.
We are allowed to want space from our children.