There’s currently a book sitting on my nightstand titled: “The Happiest Kids in the World”.
It’s ironic to see it sitting there when the big one is in complete hysterics at 5:30am for no reason other than:
“I want a banana!” (give her a banana)
“No I don’t want a banana!” (throws banana on floor)
“I want daddy!” (daddy holds her)
“No! I want mommy!” (and so on)
Yelling, ignoring, hugging, loving, talking; it all feels the same in that moment.
The little one woke up extra cheery this morning after a surprising good night of sleep. As I was changing her diaper, I found a toy cow that had been zipped up in her onesie all night long.
We’re all still getting to know each other. They’re learning how to be a human and I’m learning how to be their mom, while quite frankly, also still learning how to be a human.
Some days motherhood wins. I surrender. Some days I want to lock myself or my kids outside. Some days I wish I wasn’t so tired at night that I could actually read books about raising happy kids. Then again as Jordan said, its too much to be reading about something when you are really in something. Over saturation.
I’m sure there’s a “moral of the story” in here somewhere, but right now it’s lost in the hodgepodge of a toy bin, that is my brain. It’ll turn up later.