Three and a half weeks. Just three and a half more weeks until this baby enters the world. Three and a half really long, super uncomfortable, very swollen weeks. Three and a half more weeks of people asking me when the baby is due and then looking shocked when I tell them I still have almost a month to go.
There is a laundry list of things I have three and half weeks left of. I am going to summarize some of the most asked questions below. Not that they really bother me, but because it is becoming difficult to talk with this large child crushing all my organs.
You know how some people say their kids are really bad then you meet them and they are tiny angels? My toddler is not one of those kids. He is the kid that is very mischevious. He is constantly running, yelling, jumping and getting into trouble.
Yes, he is a little three year old boy, but the amount of damage he can do in a short amount of time blows my mind. He has earned the name Hurricane Henry. He has the stubborn nature of both me and my husband combined with blond hair, blue eyes and an adorable fat face.
Mom guilt. Literally the entire reason I started this blog. As a resource that other okay moms out there can refer to when they are hiding in their bathroom eating chocolate and drinking coffee. You know, just so they can escape their children for more than two minutes. Yes, they may be sticking their fat little hands under the crack of the door and yelling your name because the need you to pick up the blankie they dropped, but you don’t have to respond because you are “taking a shower”.
I actually did this on Mother’s Day and it was delightful. I sat in the bathroom at 7:30 am, ate an entire bag of brownie brittle and drank my coffee with the shower running.
There is something that has really been bothering me lately. An issue that I feel needs to be discussed. Something I can honestly say most women struggle with. And something we are passing onto our kids WAY too soon.
Body image. Ugh. The worst.
As a woman, it is something that has haunted me from the age of about ten. It’s something that’s continually on my mind. Especially when talking with friends. We are all complaining about weight gained, weight lost, our latest diet, how we shouldn’t be eating this or that, plastic surgeries we hope to get one day, the newest laser treatments, and the list goes on and on.
I have an almost three year old little boy and another baby boy on the way in about eight weeks. And I have absolutely zero idea what I am doing as a parent. I am completely and totally clueless. I thought by now I would have learned something, but I continue to be thrown into completely unpredictable situations by these tiny humans.
I honestly thought I had a good chunk of it figured out with Henry, my toddler. The kid is wild and crazy, but can also be so sweet and melt my mom heart with one hug. He loves to climb, jump, and do things that are insanely dangerous but manage to charm everyone in his warpath.
Mother’s Day is this Sunday. I love that there is a day dedicated to the women that pushed a tiny human out of their bodies or had it surgically removed from their uterus. Then didn’t sleep for months and sometimes years to take care of that little human and try to make sure he or she turned into a respectable human. Then endured years of tantrums over broken bananas and not being able to wear a pirate hat to church.
Can we get two Mother’s Days a year? Or four? How about once a month?
You all know by now that my track record as a parent has some major blemishes on it. Actually my entire track record as a human has some major blemishes on it. I have admitted that at times I am just an okay parent. Many days I am the parent that struggles to just make it through the day without having a nervous breakdown.
I share my #momfails all the time. Encourage people to not take them too seriously. We can’t take ourselves too seriously. If we did, we would all be miserable. And I have been there. I have had my downright miserable times.
Shockingly, I wake up every morning before my two-year-old and get in an early morning workout. I am serious. It surprises me too. I know, you can throw things at me now. This is one area in my life where I excel. I do deserve one thing, right?
After I get out of bed and before my workout, I enjoy a glorious twenty-ish minutes of alone time. I drink my coffee, scroll through my phone and just enjoy the silence of silence and nothingness. Pure bliss. The best way to start my day. It’s become a habit of almost three years and I can’t imagine starting my day any other way.
It’s here! The third trimester of my second pregnancy has arrived. I am so grateful my baby boy is healthy and growing like a weed. In a short twelvish weeks, I will get to meet him for the first time and kiss his fat little adorable face.
In the meantime, I am enjoying feeling him kick and move around in my ever-growing belly. And with a growing belly comes a growing me, an everything growing me.
It’s so weird, but it’s like someone flipped a switch on the first day of the third trimester. I feel more pregnant, more tired, more moody, more hungry and more ready than ever to meet my tiny little human.
I’m doing it again. I’m putting it all out there for the world to read. I’m openly admitting that I have some really sh*tty days as a parent. And that a lot of the time, I am just an okay parent. And I am learning to accept that it is okay to be an okay parent.
This post is about some of the hardest moments. The times when you just don’t know how much more you can take. The time when you end up locking yourself in the bathroom and crying. When you talk about how bad you need a break and dream of a few days all alone, with no kids yelling for you.