Vulnerable Mommy

Vulnerable Mommy

I was having a rough morning. He wasn’t doing anything except acting like a 15 month old, but I couldn’t find my “patience hat” anywhere. It was probably at the bottom of the laundry basket that I never have time to tackle, or under the couch where I found a bottle of rotting milk, or maybe it was in the big blue plastic tub of Legos. No, it’s definitely not there, because that big tub of Legos gets spilled all over the floor multiple times a day, and my patience is not in there.

I sat down to write a blog about my morning, about how I had just come in from watching Dawson push his red and yellow car up and down the neighbor’s driveway, wearing a polo shirt, a diaper, and converse shoes. I was going to laugh and joke about how I didn’t have the patience to hear him screech “ahhh-siiiiii” (outside) 1400  more times, while I looked for shorts, so we went outside without shorts. But, sitting down to write that blog would have required 7-9 minutes of focused, uninterrupted time. And that time must be hanging out with my patience hat. And so a video blog ensued. And some real vulnerability emerged. And I wasn’t going to post it, because, duh, it showed me, crying, and pouting, and taking a 3 minute break from teaching, showing, talking to, helping, disciplining, Dawson.

But I asked myself why I was so afraid to post it? And it was because nobody posts videos when they need a break from being a mom for a second. Because nobody wants to tell the world that they need help, that this is too much, or that they just want to be a person for 5 seconds. We post pictures of our super cute babies playing nicely in their room with blocks. We post our proud mommy moments of when our kid says “please” or finally eats something other than fruit loops. We post pictures of them smiling at the top of the slide, or we take selfies of them being giggly and sweet in the stroller. Because a lot of our life is that. But some of it isn’t. and it’s okay to be vulnerable. We’re new at this parenting thing, and shouldn’t feel ashamed, embarrassed or judged if it’s not all rainbows and butterflies.

 I took this picture of Dawson in the middle of my frustrating morning:

He has no pants because I didn’t have the patience to find shorts

He has paint in his hair because I needed 5 minutes and put him in his high chair with some finger paint, which he ended up eating more than he painted.

He has graham crackers caked on his collar because despite our hardest efforts, this kid isn’t a fan of eating.

We are playing outside because if I hear the song to “Elmo’s World” one more time I’ll throw something.

What you can’t see is me, behind the lens, wearing workout clothes from my attempt at working out this morning, but was of course interrupted by someone wanting to be held and go “ahhh-siiiiiiii”

Before the picture was taken, I yelled too loudly at the dogs, because they keep LOOKING at me, they’re into this thing now where they want to eat like, everyday. And they would have eaten, but Dawson dumped their bowls all over the floor.

And. I. Just. Couldn’t.

If you could expand the picture, you’d see the inflatable water toys left out in the yard from this morning’s attempt at water play .It sounds like a cutesy idea, blowing up these fun inflatable water toys so your kids can frolic through the water on a hot summer day. Except in reality, the toys take 15 minutes to blow up, even with an automatic pumper. And you have stop every 3 minutes to stop him from pushing his wagon into the street or stepping in an ant pile. And you turn the hose on and he loves it. And that’s cute and worth it. For 4 minutes. And then he’s soaking wet and wants to run up and down the sidewalk. And then he’s cranky and it’s time to go inside, but you have 6 huge toys to deflate and take down while still he clings to your leg and wants to go “in-siiiiiiii”

But in this picture, he’s happy. And so I post the picture because it’s cute and I want people to see what a cute, happy guy I have and how fun it is to be his mom.

And it is fun. 96%   85% 97% a lot of the time. But it’s okay for it to not be fun. And we shouldn’t be afraid to show the side of us that is tired and vulnerable and over it. Because every mom gets overwhelmed and stressed out and emotional, and we need to stick together instead of worrying that we’ll be judged.

He’ll never be 15 months old again. Sometimes, I’m thankful for that. Other times I’m sad. But every day when the volume indicator on the baby monitor flashes red and it’s time to get up and watch Elmo, I’m ready to conquer another day of inflatable toys, spilled dog food and soggy graham crackers.

And I found my patience hat. It magically appeared when Dawson, who was cuddling me after an unfortunate baby vs. wood floor incident, looked up at me with tears running down his face and leaned in for a kiss.