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Daddy said zero about days like this. You know, the ones that take a couple of days to get over & lots of sleep? Ahhh sleep, that thing I used to do before I had children. I miss it. It was comfortable, cozy and I could do it anytime I wanted. That is a thing of the past. I have had a full night’s sleep three times in well, years. No, I am not exaggerating. It’s all honesty with me, all the time. Buckle your safety harness, it’s going to be a bumpy ride. I’m about to share some things that Daddy doesn’t share.
Our morning started out splendid; sometimes they do & sometimes they don’t. We (my youngest boy, Evan & I) help in Owen’s (my oldest boy) classroom on Tuesdays. I say we help. We sit outside in the hall & help each child practice their letters, numbers & sight words. Translation: I jump through hoops to entertain an almost two year old while trying not to distract the children from their practice. I do a pretty good job, if I do say so myself. I think after my children are grown, I may just join the circus. In my opinion, being a mother should be a pre-requisite for joining the circus.
The boys have both been sick with a cold for several weeks so, Monday afternoon (the day before all the excitement happened) we went to the pediatrician for the cough that they could not kick. At the line in the drugstore I realized, ‘hey Absent-minded Millie, you didn’t tell the doctor about Evan’s allergy to the medicine he prescribed last time or the ER visit from the said medicine & now, you are trying to get more of it? What’s the deal, pickle?’ That’s another story in itself. I’m just setting the scene for this one. The point of telling you that was, Owen got his medicine, Evan didn’t. Owen was on the road to recovery, Evan wasn’t. Super.
The cough lingered on through Tuesday morning. After we maxed out our time at the school, we headed home and the official whining began and continued until Evan went to Mo & Pa’s (my in-laws) house for around an hour & a half or so. Owen was already there, he rides home from school with Mo on Tuesday’s. Well, it continued on there, too. The trip was short & back home Evan came, whining and all. I thought that I may have refilled on enough patience while I was away from him to make it through the night. I was wrong. In fact, as a parent, I am wrong a lot more than I ever anticipated I would be.
If you have ever experienced the whining of a child for hours at a time, you know firsthand that it will make you want to rip your hair out individually, by the roots and then some. Why didn’t Daddy tell me about days like this? Why didn’t he warn me that parenthood wasn’t always rainbows & moonbeams? Why didn’t he warn me that I would want to scream? Why didn’t he warn me that I would want to build myself a padded room filled with quiet and lock EVERYONE out? Is it because no one would reproduce if they knew the horrific details that you sometimes experience as a parent?
The answer is no. No, to every one of these questions. The answer is: because for every one of those awful experiences, there are a thousand, if not more, that make every single moment of parenthood, worthwhile.