Pre-Mom Me

It’s been a while. Why? Oh just life, I suppose. Things like a few weeks of leave in Texas followed by a few weeks of insanity that have melted into the next few weeks of my husband being gone.

Gone again and here we are. Eli, Flora, and I. Trudging through these weeks and clinging to nap time. OK… well me. I am clinging to nap time. They are running from nap time. And as I wash the bottles and put the toys away after they’ve gone to bed, I can’t help but chuckle about how different my life is now that I’m a mom.

Before I was a mom I was kind of a mom “hater.” Not hater in the sense that I hated moms. But I for sure hated on moms. I didn’t like hearing stories about their kids. I for sure didn’t want to hold their kids. Or watch their kids. Or really even look at jelly-caked faces and dirty shirts. So I just sort of…emotionally rolled my eyes basically at all things moms said.

When a mom said something like: “I’m so much more tired than I was before I had kids.” My internal eye roll was accompanied by : “Oh. Well I am working full time so…How dare you?” (Never mind that I got around 11 hours of sleep a night and I had never spent a night being screamed for because my kid was sick. And also I had never been puked on. At midnight. After being puked on several other times earlier in the day by my other child. Oh the good ‘ol pre-vomit days…)

If a mom had the audacity to say “My son has the cutest poop face.” My judgey and unknowing heart replied: “Um. That is disgusting. You are also a little disgusting to me now.”

And once. Just once. I heard a mom say “I just can’t keep up the housework now that we have this wild little toddler. We are going to get someone to come and help me clean once a week.” I cannot aptly express how it took every once of my self control to hold back an actual real teenage eye roll. The kind that caused groundings and rage. You know, the one where you break curfew and your parents are lecturing you but you don’t want to hear it because you’re 17 and know everything and they are utterly and completely ridiculous. One of THOSE eye rolls. Because you wanted a housekeeper for ONE child. (Insert all the cry-laughing emojis here for the terrorist/toddler I currently have living in my home).

And oh how I think the Lord was laughing. And oh how I know he knew one day I would fully grasp these moms. How I would one day seek out their friendship like a life boat in the hurricane that is motherhood. How I would have to write the girl who said she needed a housekeeper to tell her I was sorry I had so harshly judged her without her ever knowing. All because I finally know.

I know what it’s like to not be sure if it’s chocolate or poop on your shirt. I know what it’s like to look at a floor littered with toys and resolve to throw them all out. Only to instead meticulously make sure the right super hero is sitting in the right car because the wrath of Thor will descend upon your home if Captain America is sitting in Batman’s car when your son wakes up.  I know what it’s like to be kissed on the mouth. At the ER. Where you’ve taken them for a torrential virus that is causing an unprecedented amount of vomit etc. (by etc. I mean poop. In all forms. In all colors.) on their clothes, on your clothes, and, quite unfortunately, on your unsuspecting white carpet. To be kissed ON THE MOUTH by a child WITH A VIRUS in the EMERGENCY ROOM just to kiss them back because by golly, they need a kiss to get them through this ordeal. Even when you know that kiss is the kiss of death (which it absolutely was. I vomited my life away all night after they got some anti-nausea meds).

{I just want to take a moment to say that this post was not originally supposed to include so much poop and vomit. It really just kind of happened and now it’s too late. So if you’re pre-kids, don’t be scared. I promise there’s so much more than poop and vomit…I mean there’s a LOT of poop and vomit. But there is also SO much more.}

Anyways.
Pre-mom me was kind of a jerk. And also pre-mom me kind of hates mom-me. But I get it now. I get what it’s like to look at the budget to see if you can have someone help you clean once a week, a month, or even just once a year because you have the wildest little boy who never stops running, throwing, yelling, and knocking things down. I get what it’s like to so desperately hate a children’s book but read it doing the fun voices every night anyways because you love the giggles those voices invoke. I get what it’s like to love those jelly-caked faces and be so proud when they offer you a bite of their BP&J because they’re learning to share.

If you’re a pre-mom me I hope you know that I would love to have you over for coffee. And I won’t ever be upset if you are grossed out by my kids. I am also somewhat grossed out by them. And I won’t be mad if you judge me a little for the amount that I talk about my kids and the fact that my daughter has the silliest and best poop-face of all the poop-faces. But man, I hope one day, if you want it. you get the chance to be a mom-me. Because vomit and all, I still choose this wild, messy, loud little life I get run around in.

Photo by Bethany Kidd Photography (This is one of my favorite photos of my kids because it so accurately depicts what taking family photos is actually like).

 

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