I love being a mom. I do. I love my son more than I ever thought possible. Still, there are definitely times...
Anyone who says they love every minute of being a mother is a) lying, or b) has a sad, sad life. Don't get me wrong, I still love my son when I'm cleaning up vomit, walking in circles trying to calm him down, or pulling him out from behind the TV for the 78th time today, but there are definitely other things I would rather be doing.
I think it's completely normal to miss your pre-child life sometimes. Early on Saturdays and anytime you're awake between 11pm and 6am are probably common times.
Luckily, there are the mom-ents (haha) to remind you why you do what you do.
I've been thinking a lot about holding on to these fleeting moments lately. B's breastfeeding days are numbered, and though it's time to be done, I'm going to miss the closeness. When B was a baby, milk fixed everything. He would fall asleep curled up against me, and as long as I was holding him, he was happy. For 4 months he slept in the bassinet next to me, where I could hear him breathing and know that he was okay. I still miss that.
The quest for independence can be frustrating for both parent and child, but I burst with pride at every little accomplishment. I know it's silly, but the first time he clapped his hands I actually cried.
Right now, my favorite time of day is when, after Ray gives him his bath, he comes toddling down the hall in just his diaper, slapping his thrust-out belly and laughing, and gives me a hug. I don't want him to walk better. I don't want him to be potty-trained. I want him to be this sweet little boy forever.
These are the moments that make everything else worth it.
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