Although my darling Jack is almost 5 years old, I continue to be amazed, dumbfounded, pretty much overwhelmed by the sheer amount of talking he can manage each day. From the second I spied him at pick-up until literally JUST now (37 minute duration), he did not stop going on about a paper bird he’d made in science class that stabs worms with its beak for its self or babies. He’s like a tape on continuous loop with the subjects ranging from the aforementioned bird to what type of animal exactly is a worm, do the drivers of tower cranes have a bathroom in the cab up there, what kind of school do you need to go to to become a policeman, do secret service agents have more and neater gear than regular policemen? It feels like I’m the direct target of a torrential hailstorm, and it is immediately exhausting. It also makes me feel sad sometimes because if he weren’t my child, I might run for the hills.
The bottom line here is that parenthood is so effing hard, constant and challenging. Many of us feel this way on a very regular basis, but I still think that, for the most part, there is a societal pressure to be LOVING EVERY MINUTE of life with your child(ren). In my opinion, this does such a terrible, potentially destructive disservice to mothers (fathers much less so I think) everywhere who often end up feeling alone in theexhaustion, desperation and confusion they feel. It can be vexing to be so in love with little people who are, by and large, completely dependent on you, to see in them many wonderful qualities but also some that are less optimal, to be so proud but simulataneously concerned. Aah, just another day in the life of mommyhood. ;)
And I still need to uproot this last tree- it is really giving me hell, but I am determined to conquer it.
I might not have it in me to cook tonight. We’ll see…