Perhaps I haven’t been fair, dear reader, in my portrayal of motherhood. Here I have gone and made it all angels with little glowing wings and little boys looking so cute in piles of mess that the very mess itself seems to have a bit of charm about it (and likely cleans itself up afterwards). I have made motherhood seem to be nothing but kids on tractors and kids with chickens and kids delighting in the season’s first snowfall.
And it is those things. Those things. And more.
But also, sometimes, it is other things. Sometimes it is standing in a very small and cramped bathroom, helping a child who, to be honest, is still rather inept at taking care of certain necessary duties that must be taken care of post-bathroom use. Sometimes it is standing in that space, not relishing the task at all, while the helpee whines most ungratefully, and all the while his sibling drives a medium-sized remote control car repeatedly forward and then reverse into your feet and ankles. Sometimes it is that. That and other things.
There. I am square again with my readers. My blog is legit – legitimized by my brutal honesty.
Oh alright. It wasn’t that brutal, but it was . . . unpleasant? Unpleasant and slightly annoying. Also, as long as I am trying to keep it painfully real so nobody will dismiss me as a blogger of pure fluff, I will add that all that happy hullaballoo in the leaf pictures above? It didn’t last long. Abe got stung by a wasp when the girls buried him in leaves and nobody would set foot in the leaf pile again. How’s that for honesty.
Just balance all those things out before you, you know, move full steam ahead with any big “Let’s make billions of babies” plans.