Stop Saying That. Just Stop.

You know what one of the most condescending, irritatingly insulting things I've had someone say to me is? "You're going to miss this stage. Just wait."... NO! I will not miss it one blasted bit! I love my children dearly, but YOU don't live in my house everyday. You want to know how many times my 4yr old told me she hated me today? I don't know either. I lost count after 25. EVERY DAY! I go through this EVERY day. I have to fight with my children about putting clothes on. I fight with them about eating something besides candy. I fight with them about the fact that I didn't buy the fancy over priced fruity whatever-it-is because I think we should save some money for their clothes! I'm a monster who ruins everyday because I refuse to cave to the rest of the world and raise jerks. I have been told countless times that I ruined all the fun. I'm mean, not fun, and they hate me. Believe me, they let me know every chance they get. Do you know what that does to your self-esteem? I know, I know... "You shouldn't let a 4yr old dictate your self worth."... I don't care WHO you are. If ANYone tells you that they hate you multiple times a day EVERY day. You're going to feel the ding to your self esteem. only a heartless bastard would not feel a ding to their self worth after listening to that for 2-3 years. So don't tell me I will miss this. Don't tell me I'm going to wake-up, they'll be grown and I'll look back and be all "aww I miss when they were little.". I will absolutely NOT miss this. I won't miss dealing with a fight on every issue. I won't miss the crying, or the complaining, or the lack of ANYthing I do being good enough. That's what it's like when you're a parent to small humans who can't logic. NOTHING you do is good enough. Ever. They look at you like "and? why should I be grateful for this?". Don't tell me I will miss this. YOU miss this. I do not. Stop trying to be supportive by telling me how much YOU miss this. Some of us didn't have children who constantly told us they loved us. Some of us didn't have children who wanted to learn to dress themselves, or be obedient for more than 30 seconds. Some of us have children who are so difficult their teachers feel sorry for us; because they know we're trying, but the child is just that difficult. Some of us didn't raise our children when you could give them a swat on the bum for misbehaving, or wash their mouth out with soap for talking back. Some of us are trying to raise functional children who won't grow up to be entitled jerks; while simultaneously attempting to not go to jail for child abuse because EVERYone knows that kids should never be physically punished. Stop telling a mom in the middle of a crisis that she'll miss the crisis situation. No one misses this. What you think we'll miss is that same stupid naive expectation we imagined before we delivered our first child. That's not reality. So stop telling me I'm going to miss that fantasy you've created in your memories. I'm far to practical for that. I don't have time for that. I have to go tell two little girls to go to bed. Again. Then I have to listen to them yell at me and tell me how much they hate me. Again. Because this is the routine. Until everyone is asleep. Then I'll get about 30-45 minutes of sleep before the baby wakes up and needs me. Again. So take your "you're going to miss this." and burry it with all the other dead hopes and dreams you left behind.

Gooey S'mores & Chili Breath

I'm lost. Somewhere between the size 4 jeans, and the stretchy pants are the only thing that fit; I lost myself. Somewhere between newly married, and the confused sleep deprivation of a mother of multiples I lost myself. Somewhere between "I can totally run that 5k!", and "you want me to do something besides nap?!" I lost myself. Somewhere between the punk/ska, and the child friendly language of a kid's sing-a-long CD I lost myself. Somewhere between the red lipstick, and barely having the energy for a shower I lost myself. Now this isn't a pity party, but it is a realization that My identity is no longer the same. Though I long to be the person who had the energy to dance in the kitchen while I was cleaning, I also realize a lot of that is choice. I CHOSE not to dance in the kitchen with the mop while listening to music with language and messages too mature for my children. I CHOSE to spend time on the floor with them reading books while the housework piles up. I'm beginning to recognize that may not always be the best choice. For now it's a delicate balancing act of my OCD for a clean home battling my desire to give my children quality time. People will tell me that cleaning my home IS showing my children love. Well, have you met my children? They cling to me the way we all wish syran-wrap would stick to the dishes we attempt to cover. Their love language is both quality time, and quality touch. I do what I can with the time I've got, but when I'm up several times a night with teething children, and not drinking caffeine during the day? come on! when they take a nap; I take a nap. I feel the desire to bust out some of the old me. The part of me that could care less. The person who wore bright red lipstick because it was Tuesday. I don't think she's dead just yet. And as my youngest gets a little older I find time to do things like put on jeans instead of stretchy pants. Somedays I even remember the deodorant. I love my children, and I spent years believing that life had passed by the point in which I would get to hold them in my arms. I also love the person I was before. The passion that was my life, the fearless resolve with which I stated my opinions and beliefs. I spend a lot more time pleasing others now. Giving snuggles, giving loves, giving spoonfuls of food, giving the blue cup because the red cup is no longer desired. I even bite my tongue to keep civil relations with people I could honestly care less if they liked me, but I need to play nice with because my Husband needs that relationship. I just think that at some point I'm going to find myself, and everyone is going to have their minds blown when I start acting like myself. I may even become much more organized. Who knows! I can barely put together complete thoughts anymore, but don't you worry! I will get back into a pair of stilettos and red lipstick, and probably some clothes too. I suppose that it's part of being a parent to lose a piece of yourself. I wonder whether I'm doing it wrong. Whether my decision to stop being so much full color version of myself, and more of a muted pastel is worth it. Whether the desire for a more child friendly/age appropriate home has been a wise choice. If I've lost enough of myself that my children will think that the woman who wore whatever she darn well felt like, and had the courage to kick someone's arse with a simple tongue lashing ever really was me. I wonder if I've given up a part of who I was that made my husband fall in love with me. I question whether I let myself go so far that I got lost along the way? Perhaps it's time to reclaim some of that person. Perhaps, much as I discovered when trying to be a bank manager, I just don't fit into these shoes. Perhaps I really just need to stand in the shower for 20 minutes, and sing my heart out, and let the kids play in the toilet water while I actually put lotion on myself. Maybe I need to spend a little more time shaving my legs, and a little less time crawling around on the floor. While I justify letting myself get lost because I'm attempting to make sure I don't raise children who are self entitled jerks. . . I may be missing the point, and my mind. Maybe it's all just a crap shoot, and it won't make a difference in the end that I bothered.