Is it safe to assume that busy Monday mornings, or any other mornings, stifle patience for moms of young children?
This is true for me.
Getting out of the house to go anywhere feels like my days’ work is done. By the time everyone’s seat belt is buckled, I’m ready for a nap.
This was my situation earlier in the day. To my kids it might as well have been National Slow Motion Day: take as long as possible to do even the slightest thing. It seemed like a race of who could take the longest to get ready or bicker endlessly about who won an arbitrary race they made up on the spot.
When I asked them to get ready, Elliot continued to calmly color coordinate his marbles and Ellis, dressed only in her Doc McStuffin pull ups, kept tossing the contents of her dresser on the floor saying they were too “uncool.”
I wanted to scream. However, if I raised my voice the whole morning would’ve fallen apart. They detect the slightest difference in the tone of my voice and immediately accuse me of being mad. The source of trouble then shifts: it’s not about getting ready anymore – it’s about mommy being mean and mad. I imagine they want me to dance cheerfully around them singing in angelic glow for the tenth time, “why are you not brushing your teeth?”
Don’t they know this tough job is motivated by a labor of love? Don’t they know it’s not a lucrative or prestigious position? Don’t they realize this job offers no sick days, personal days, or vacation perks (unless the whole circus travels together)? Don’t they know this job leads to a myriad of health troubles, like migraines from two chirpy voices constantly chirping for attention, indigestion from eating too fast, blood pressure fluctuating wildly, insomnia from heavy coffee consumption, and very achy joints?
Before having kids of my own, I couldn’t fathom the complexity of this parenting job.
Once again I remind myself that this mom thing is a labor of love: a labor that I choose to love.