Motherhood, an honest rambling confession:

      I look like Rachel Maddow. No really. I am rocking her hair and by "rocking" I mean rolling out of bed looking like a fourth grade boy. The other day I managed to put on mascara and my husband told me I looked nice when he got home. "Nice" is now determined by real pants and mascara. Wow. Low point? Then I have to remind myself that no, I am actually miles away from bottom. I've been to bottom. Its a dark ugly place. There is no mascara at the bottom and there certainly aren't real pants. See, I'm a mom. I'm a REAL mom. I'm not going to bullshit you about how wonderful it is. I love my kids, they are wonderful, but day to day its pretty trying being a mother. I used to be a real person. With nice clothes, cute hair, actual makeup, and friends. I used to love art and music and local beer. Hubby and I were cool once. Now we're just old.
      I think when you have kids your memory of that other life you had should be erased. I think people would be happier and they certainly wouldn't wonder at least once a week, 'why the hell didn't someone warn me about this?!' I recently discovered the new Nelly song and I loved it and I wasn't even embarrassed like I knew I should have been, because well, at some point that becomes the new cool. The standards have been lowered. Remember when 8pm was go time? Getting ready to go out time? 4pm is like 8pm now and 8pm is like 1am. By 8pm B and I have both changed to our pj pants and are holding down separate ends of the couch, each of us holding an Ipad and our newest Netflix show queued up. This is my life.

      I have three sons. All they want to do is fight and eat. And play ball in the house. The little one doesn't do much of any of that yet. But he is constantly watching his big brothers and I know he is taking notes. He's just waiting for his body to cooperate with all the big troublesome plans he's got.  My two year old tells me the same knock knock joke ten times a day and I go along with it. "Mommy, knock knock." "Who's there?" "Ice" "Ice who?" "BOOK!" and then he laughs and laughs. The "joke" is driving me crazy but the laughter makes it worth it... to a point. The four year old, well, he can't stand me. I'm just the person he has to spend time with until his beloved father gets home from work. I'm the one who wipes away the "I miss my daddy" tears and plays cards and bakes cupcakes but he never lets me forget, I am number two in his book. It used to bother me more than it does now. I'm glad he loves his daddy in such a special way. But he needs to work on his honesty. As in, telling less of it. "I love you buddy." "I know." "Do you love me too?" "Yeah, but not as much as I love daddy." ::eye roll:: Wish I would have known that before I carried you for what felt like a year covered in Pupps in 100 degree Texas humidity. Oh and then you know, a day of laboring and then an emergency c section. Whatevs dude.

       So yeah, I have completely lost myself in these children who like me sometimes. I don't recognize myself in the mirror. I can hear my 17 year old self saying, "You mean we're going to get even fatter?!" Yup. Just something to look forward to sister. Oh and the stretch marks from carrying said children. How about how I always joke about drinking so much wine and needing so many margaritas? I hardly ever drink. I can't remember the last time I bought a bottle of wine because honestly, I'm too tired to drink. Too tired to drink?! Now my college aged self is appalled.

       My house is a mess, despite how much time I spend cleaning it up. It will never be clean. At least not for ten years or so. But I still just follow them around cleaning up the same messes they made yesterday. My favorite is when my husband looks around at a house that looks as though we've been robbed and says, "what did you do all day?" If looks could kill that man would have dropped dead years ago. It's not as easy as it seems it would be. The cleaning and cooking and lack of adult conversation. I've been a stay at home mom for two years this month and I am certain that I am becoming increasingly more socially awkward. I have nothing to say to any adult that they want to hear. And my knock knock jokes don't get many laughs these days...

      Truthfully, everything I've said is 100% accurate... but I don't care. I remember being a kid and thinking how uncool my mom was. And now? I think she's awesome. She gave up everything for me. No fancy clothes, no fashionable handbags or heels. She had mom hair, way too busy taking care of us to take care of herself the way she deserved. I thought that would change when we were grown but now she just does all those things for them.... for my boys. For her boys. My nearly 21 year old brother calls my mom almost everyday when he's away at school. She's the compass, helping us navigate our way through this crazy life. She was the only person I wanted to see last June. The only person I felt I could talk to. The only person I dared whisper "post partum depression" to and the only person I knew wouldn't turn away from me when I called her crying the words "Down syndrome." Our mothers are crazy and we made them that way, I am just in the middle of this transition from clueless daughter to crazy mother. I am at the point where all I want to do is fall into my mother's arms and say, thank you. thank you for loving me more than you loved yourself. thank you for never turning your back on me. thank you for being strong when I was weak. Thank you for letting me drive you crazy.

       Moms are not glamorous. They are not put together and stress free. I have more stress now than I ever did. Moms are lonely. Its hard to bear the weight of all the bad stuff. The preschool prep, the speech delays and potty training, and in my case the appointments. Therapy, specialist, pediatrician, therapy, specialist, specialist, specialist, another pediatrician. Being a mom is miserable. It feels like you're always failing. Your tears, their tears, your screams, their screams. It's all just one big mess. And then....

a two year old boy runs up to you with the most beautiful smile and hugs your knees and says "My Mommy!" Win.

a four year old smiles excitedly when you "speak" robot right on cue. Win.

an 11 month old baby beams up at you from his crib. He can not sit on his own. He can not eat without a feeding tube. He has tape marks on his face from his nightly oxygen. But his little face says so easily, "There she is.. my compass!"

Its a beautiful life and I wouldn't change a thing.

No, not even my hair.