Parenting is hard

I didn't have to be a parent long before I realized what people meant when they said parenting is hard. I knew it; it is physically draining.

I remember on cue every time I put my oldest in her carseat, she would vomit. It was usually when I was in a hurry. I would run and sweat to change my clothes, her clothes, and clean the carseat. I mastered the art of rethreading a carseat buckle after washing. As any parent can attest, this is the equivalent to an enlarged Rubic's cube. Parenting is hard.

Or when you finally solve the mystery that is baby projectile vomiting, you have another kid. My second did not sleep through the night until he was 12 months old. One full year of minimal sleep. Truly physically demanding.

But that was just two kids.

We move, and because I must change jobs at my company. I lose my nice part time schedule. Three kids, but I now must work full time until something opens up.

Never under estimate the power of The Gap. My kids were 18 months apart, and I could put a body builder to shame with my arms due to the fact that I was always CARRYING TWO KIDS AT A TIME.

And number three was not an easy baby. She got salmonella poisoning on a family vacation. For 3 months, I cleaned up diarrhea. She would run like a faucet even when she had two OR THREE diapers on at once. I will never forget that smell. I was collecting poop samples as mandated by the Health and Human Services for 8 weeks until the infection was gone. This was sooo hard... And disgusting.

With number four, we juggled two full time jobs, football season, multiple hospital visits, and surgeries all while mommy was obtaining her Master's degree. Yes, I have seen hard days.

But I would do it all over again to avoid this. The really hard part.

When people warned me that parenting was hard, they meant to say that it was hard physically... and emotionally.

I would have 18 years of sleepless nights cleaning diarrhea and vomit then have to hold your crying six year old multiple times each day and explain why she will never see her friend again. Or console a crying child after he was hit by a peer and now thinks that means no one likes him.

I'll take the physical pain any day.

We count sheep

It had been nearly a hour. The tears would not stop. But life had to move on.

I gave her a bath, put on her pajamas, and laid her in bed.

She was still crying. Inconsolable. She didn't want talking or touching.

She doesn't realize we are so much alike. I exhausted my parents.

The child that is the hardest to be with is the one that needs it the most.

So I just sat there.

A child has no concept of time, but I know I was there for a long time.

When she began to breathe between tears, I said, "when I was a little girl, I used to count sheep to fall asleep."

I added, "Close your eyes. Can you create a fence in your head? What color is your fence?"

"Red."

"Now do you see sheep?"

"Yes."

"Let him jump over the fence. 1, 2, 3, 4..."

I stopped at 176 when I knew she was asleep.

The next morning she crawled into my bed.

"Mom, can we count sheep tonight?"

Picture Perfect

There is a picture of a family. By the side of the freeway. The odometer reads 100,000. Everyone is beautiful and smiling, except the 6 year old.

Arms folded. Scowl on her face.

They don't know. She didn't want her picture taken. She had no time to do her hair. She doesn't think she's pretty. Her family's joy of spontaneity perpetuates her delusion that she is an outsider.

She is six.

At seven, the door bell rang. In pure kid fashion, everyone ran to the door. Except her. She ran to the bathroom. She wanted to look her best for the visitor. Oh the irony when she slipped on the bathroom floor and created a scene. Bloody, she required stitches.

She remembers being mad. A lot. One day she knew she was mad, but didn't know why.

A child does not know how to describe her feelings; she can't describe insecurity or anxiety. Anger and sadness are rarely just that for a child.

She made a pledge to protect her children. She avoids over complimenting their looks and avoids words like diet, sexy, and scale. She compliments the whole child.

But she is still fighting alone.

Mama Bear

WARNING: I am a mom. I take it seriously. I know I may be biased, but I think my kids are great.

A neighborhood mom was complaining that my child was too bossy.

This is a whole new world for me. Except on the soccer field, I have not possessed leadership qualities. I believe most of the struggles I had growing up was that I was not a leader.

Bothered, I knew I had to talk to my child. But how?

I finally talked to her a couple days later.

"Is anything happening between you and [said kid]?"

"No."

"Is he mad at you? Or you mad at him?"

"No." Annoyed only like a pre-teen could say, "why?!"

"He thinks you may be too bossy."

Matter of factly she said, "Everyone thinks I am bossy."

With tears of joy swelling, I knew my parenting angle.

She has always been responsible and cognoscente of others. At a very young age, I have asked her to assume a leadership role. And I'm not the only one. She has been asked to walk children to school, babysit napping children, or help organize children at parties or soccer practices.

A child cannot differentiate the very gray area between being a leader and being "too bossy."

So I continued with my child, "Did you know that your aunt was bossy? In fact, she was so bossy that they nicknamed her 'The Boss' ?"

"Whoa."

"Do you know what she is doing now? She is a boss and makes good money."

"Maybe I can be a boss."

"I hope so."

The next time someone says she is bossy, I am going to thank them.