So. Last week’s blog post really hit a nerve with some of you. After the comments and emails and texts and conversations I’ve shared with some of you, it turns out that we moms are ONE TIRED BUNCH. (Also perhaps a smidge melodramatic slash hyper-aware of our own mortality. But whatever.)
Whenever I broach the “ohmyword raising littles is so HARD” subject, there will also inevitably be those of you who get all “oh you think these years of raising little kids are hard? Just wait till they’re TEENAGERS!! Bwahaha!” on me. And that, my dear friends, is when I consider dropping my three precious blessings off on your quiet little doorstep and jetting. You know, just for the day. Just for the experience. A sweet little reminder of the days of old.
I jest. (Wait. Unless you really want to watch my kids for the day. Because then negotiations shall gladly be made.)
But those teenager comments? While part of me wants to cower and hide at the sheer thought of The Teenage Years, the other part of me wants to savor (and, uh, blog about. because if it isn’t blogged about, it didn’t happen. obviously.) the pink tutus and caged toads and first floatie-less swims. The Saturday morning PopTart rituals. The gap-toothed smiles. The really ridiculously sweet relationship these crazy kids have with one another. Because as REALLY FREAKING TIRED as I am many days, these are the moments I just can’t bare to forget.