I always wanted kids. Always knew it'd be a mom. It was no problem for me to get pregnant and I had three "easy" and wonderful birth experiences. Then all of sudden I had three kids. And I fought it. Most parents I admire have a real understanding of surrendering to parenthood. And at times I felt fully engaged and happy to jump feet first into my mother role. I kicked ass at throwing birthday parties and making Halloween costumes and any sort of event that required my creativity. But for the last 10+ years, I can say that I fought fully committing to parenting.
Of course, I kept my kids safe and healthy. Would I throw myself in front of train to save one of my kids? Without question. Would I catch the flu because they cough all over me while I'm tending to them? Always. Will I skip the newly-released Oscar-contending movie because we don't have a sitter? Um....yes, but I will feel annoyed. Will I miss out on dozens of party invitations? Yes and I will feel resentful. Will I go years without vacations because we have to afford daycare and school? You bet I will, and it will be a constant source of irritation. Will I wake up on Sunday mornings and lament the fact that I have to entertain my own kids all day? Yes...and my anger will probably ruin everyone else's Sunday. And has.
I'm not sure why I started fighting committing to parenting. My kids are pretty great and definitely fill my world with more life than I could have imagined. But I started to agonize over all of the demands and sacrifices that come with choosing to have children. I want to go to happy hour on a sunny afternoon with friends and not worry about picking anyone up. I want to take a weekend trip with my husband without a thought about who we could even call to watch the kids overnight. I want excess money in my bank account so we can take some vacations or buy a new car. I want to check Facebook on my iPhone and not read Spiderman vs Dr Octopus for the 17th time. I want a clean house with a guest bedroom that's not filled with Elmo and stickers on the ceiling. I want...I want...I want.... This was becoming exhausting.
Finally, and mercifully, my heart adjusted to what I really want (I can't define exactly what happened other than the universe tapped me on the shoulder - or maybe hit me with a frying pan - and I realized my job and responsibilities were way beyond my selfishness). I want a happy home with a ton of laughter (I know everyone says this, but most things are clichés for a reason). I want these people I chose to have and raise to feel confident and that they always matter. I want them to know what
|Way cooler than any happy hour.|
I still want a vacation and will get one soon enough when these kids grow into their lives and away from us. Until then...I am committed to loading them up in the old mini-van and taking them wherever we go on this crazy ride.