Several years ago, I was sitting in a meeting of International Women. I was seated next to a beautiful Danish woman. She had 2 children. I had 1. One 4-year-old daughter.
We bonded over that mere fact.
Being moms.
And, as we were virtually strangers, yet with something HUGE in common, we had a lot to talk about.
Okay—we had parenting and mom-ming and kids to talk about.
But it was one of the deepest conversations of my life.
We looked at each other and both of, respectively, said, “We are so thankful that we don’t beat our children.”
It’s as if we were leaning over to give one another high fives for keeping our children alive.
Like really.
We spoke on HOW difficult parenting is. How hard it is to practice restraint. How MUCH you want to, well, basically, put your child in a VERY big box and shut the lid.
It was so refreshing to have an honest parenting conversation with another mom. A mom that looked like she had EVERYTHING together.
Because parenting is HARD HARD HARD.
IT, your beautiful baby, your precocious toddler—turns FOUR…FOUR!
And you think…have I spawned the devil?
And these precious creatures we have spawned literally live to drive us bat crazy. You feel as if you have no shred of self control left. You literally have to physically leave the presence of your spawn.
Parenting is hard. And I get so ridiculously crazy of these soft-spoken moms that are like “Blah, blah, blah…the beauty of parenting…AND MAKING BUTTER..” because I am all like…MY KID LIVED TODAY!!!!!
And I feel as if I should run outside and SHOUT IT ON THE ROOFTOPS!
And I feel as if they should literally make a MADE FOR TV movie about my heroism.
AND I.AM.NOT.KIDDING!
This woman. This stranger. She got all of that. We talked for a long time about how people really should praise mommies for maintaining control. We talked about parents that struggled with doing what’s right. We talked about how much help we need as parents.
We need help. The good parents. The bad parents. THE PARENTS. We need help.
Because our job is the biggest in the world. And it’s the hardest in the world. And we have little little little people that trust us for safety and protection and life—as they should—even while they are trying to snuff that VERY life out of us.
Right now I am raising my second 4-year-old. I say second, because my daughter was my first and she is now 10.
And she is the FINEST decade gal you will ever meet (decade gal is what she calls her 10-year-old self).
She is funny and kind. She is smart and hardworking. She is silly and fun. She is outgoing yet shy. SHE IS THE BEST!
I couldn’t ask for a more amazing child.
Yet when she was four—I thought she was the she-devil herself. And I could hardly see straight because she drove me so insane.
And I PRAYED that we would BOTH live through that phase. That phase of her being 4.
Stubborn. Screaming. CRYING…PUBLIC HUMILATION. Up the wazoo.
I felt ashamed every time I walked in public with her because of her meltdowns and fits and tantrums.
I wanted to return this child I prayed so hard to receive.
And I thought I would never make it past this phase of being the WORST MOMMY EVER!
Yet here she sits at 10 as the BEST version of any kid I could imagine building on my own. Like, literally, if I could design a child, this child would still not come out as great as my decade gal.
And so I have chosen to write this post today for me. For you. For every HONEST mom out there that is pulling her hair, just trying to survive.
I write this for the solidarity of US!
We do deserve high fives. We do deserve made for TV movies. We deserve honor and recognition that our children are alive despite the fact that we are now bald.
You are doing a fine job. Maybe some days you want to cry because you feel like you are the worst. But take a deep breath. Go in the other room. Cry. And then breathe again. Because your 4-year-old will not be a 4-year-old forever.
One day your 4-year-old will turn into your decade gal…and you will be able to look at your child and see that you have made it. You have survived. And you are doing a darn fine job of it.
Drink a coffee…Eat dessert. And breathe.
Because the teenage years are just around the corner.
And 2 Makes Crazy 