“Oh Eleanor, I have crossed a thousand seas to gaze upon your face. Put down that chamber pot and be my wedded wife!” Fitzwilliam declared, his muscular arms gripping Eleanor tightly. He bent his head closer, electricity crackling between them, their lips tingling with desire, and…..BANG!! My bedroom door burst open, smashing into the wall. Two-year-old Andy somersaulted into the room, followed closely by five-year-old Molly. I jolted awake, my heart hammering in my chest. The steamy escapades of Eleanor and Fitzwilliam blew out like a candle. “Get out, get OUT!” Molly hissed, pushing Andy desperately towards the door. “Sorry mommy,” she puffed. “Go back to sleep. Andy didn’t mean to come in here.” Molly dragged her screeching brother back out the door, but the damage was done. I was now crankily conscious, and my coursing adrenaline made sleep impossible.
You don’t realize what you take for granted before you have kids. A toilet rim not covered in glitter. A floor not covered in sticky, pointy, painful toys. A restful morning lie-in. These minor irritations add up until one day, you realize you’re Mega Mom: a minivan driving, pajama-wearing, frizzy-haired advertisement for birth control! Sleeping in is one of the things I miss most (along with my waistline). Pre-children, I could easily sleep in past one in the afternoon, then laze around the house all day. Nowadays, by one pm, I’ve been up for six hours, visited the grocery store, the park, and the bank, and cooked two meals for the whole family!
I miss my independence (mostly on the days when the kids are at each other’s throats, and I would sell a kidney for some peace and quiet). I wish I was the carefree, irresponsible girl I used to be. It’s tough being a playmate, teacher, and referee all the time, especially when the dog is the only one listening (and even that’s infrequent).
But when I miss the things I used to have, I’m reminded of what I have now. Two happy, healthy kids, who laugh at life and teach me to live in the moment. Molly and Andy are already better, more compassionate people than I’ll ever be. They’re teaching me about kindness and forgiveness, and why burps and farts are hilarious. I wish I was more like them.
So even though the days are long, I understand clearly that the years are short. I won’t always be the woman Molly calls “so loveful”, or the mother that Andy demands to hug. I’ll take the mess, noise, and chaos for as long as it lasts, because one day I’ll miss sticky toys and glitter-covered toilet seats!
