Motherhood: The Struggle is Real

Motherhood is hard. It's a messy, fun, taxing, tiring, entertaining, trying job. It's an emotional rollercoaster. One of those rickety old wooden ones, built who knows when and without a snug and secure five-point harness. Some days I feel like a complete failure. Other days I feel like these two tiny humans I'm responsible for might just turn out alright. And compared to other moms, I have it easy. My children are healthy, I stay at home (work by choice) and I have a supportive spouse. I'm even so spoiled that until very recently I had the help of a wonderful nanny. (More on that scary transition later.)

I'm not even speaking to the challenge of balance. Parenthood itself is a huge, constant undertaking. Balancing motherhood with being a wife and having a career is a whole new level of crazy. If you've mastered it, please let me know your secret. 

How am I to teach another person to be well-mannered and productive when I struggle to be those things myself? It's some sort of cruel joke. My children regularly test my patience and I'm, by nature, a calm person. 

Part of me even feels like a bad mom for sharing this piece of me. It wouldn't be fair to reserve the honesty though. The struggle is real. I mean that in both the insanely deep and the new "hashtag" jovial, laugh it off sense. Because that's what motherhood is. It's picking your battles and clinging onto a sense of humor to save your life.

I do my best. My children know I love them. At the end of the day, whether rough or smooth, that's what matters most to me.

Before you scroll through the following images, let me explain the reality; The string on the towel drives me nuts, but he wouldn't sit still long enough for me to remove it. The scar under Gunn's eye is from jumping off the coffee table onto the couch and landing on one of my hair clips. (Which he pretended was a grapple and left on the couch when he grew bored of it, even after several warnings not to remove it from my bathroom.) Yes, my almost three year old is still in diapers. Don't even get me started on potty training. The image of both kids on the chair looks sweet. Look closer at Gunner's facial expression. This was snapped moments before he attempted to smother his brother. The bottom chair cushion is absent from the chair. It's under lock down due to Gunner's use of it as a step stool to commit naughty tasks. Boss' hair is covered in grease from Chick Fil A nuggets. It's too risky to bathe them together, most times. There, you have it. Just a glimpse into a more challenging day. A glimpse meaning about 6 minutes. It's chaos. It's a mess. A beautiful mess. It's my mess.

We all struggle. Let's support each other and be honest, rather than judge. I don't want to hear that I shouldn't have used formula or given in to a pacifier. I'm doing what works for me and for us, usually taking it day by day. Let it be. Hang in there, mamas.