Isn't it hard?
It is hard. And we are so damn tired. All the time.
We cook mac and cheese and clean out forgotten sippy cups and apply bandaids to non existent wounds and wipe various orifices.
And Mother's Day rolls around. Anticipations. Expectations.
Never fully realized, no matter how low you lower them.
And the kids fight about the iPad and one of them begrudgingly hands you the present they made for you in Sunday school, crying that they want to keep it themselves.
Then dada gets called into work.
And you gaze at the sweaty baby strapped to your chest, your eyes glazed over in a hazy sort of fatigue and you find yourself oozing love, which you would undoubtedly have for the big ones if they could hold still and be quiet long enough. HA.
And its there.
That love that carries us through.
And we wonder, when does it get easier? When will I "figure it out"?
Never. Of course, its never.
God, I have to tell myself that. Shout it at myself. There is no "figuring out"! Because the next thing comes, then the next. Then a giant curveball like a move or a lost job or a lost partner or, God forbid, a truly sick child.
And its all shot to hell. Again.
But we can do it mamas, this is the thing. We can.
Mother's Day shouldn't be a day for brunches and nail salons and roses. It should be a day for activities fitting of the warriors that mothers are.
They should light bonfires in our honor. Set off fireworks. Chant at the stars. Fling bouquets of limp roses into the waves. All in honor of the fallen mothers, the tired mothers, the mothers who gave up on themselves, the ones who lost children, the ones who remember carpool at the last minute and manage to squeeze in a run to Starbucks all the same. The finder of lost shoes. The soother of midnight dreams. The ones who hold our worlds' together, we queens extraordinaire.
All of us.
Queens of our domain.
It is hard. We are tired. But we fight on, just the same.
I honor you all. I hold you in my heart.