Yes, being a mother is wonderful and beautiful, but sometimes I miss the before. There were so many things that I took for granted.
I could shower whenever I wanted to. Alone. I could sleep on my own schedule. I didn’t have to hurry and get into bed by 9:30 because my children would demand that I be up at the asscrack of dawn. I could put something on the floor and leave it there. It wouldn’t get torn up, disfigured, eaten, or thrown into the trash can. I could use foul language without the guilt that now accompanies it. I could drink more than a glass or two of wine if I wanted. I could, at any time, drop whatever I was doing and do something else. I could go on spontaneous roadtrips or eat at a restaurant. I could read books about love or loss or freaking wizards if I wanted to, not about dinosaurs at bedtime. I could plug things in and not worry about them toppling down onto wee heads when their cords were pulled. I could wear smaller bras. I could leave a room without glancing at it to find all the deadly things and then running back 30 seconds later when things were dangerously and suspiciously silent. I could put a mousetrap on the floor. I could leave cabinets unlocked. I could make all the food spicy. I could go on errands and accomplish tasks at a normal, or even efficient, pace. I could sit and enjoy silence during the middle of the day. I could only pick up after myself. I could do one third of the laundry I do now. I could spend money on trivial things. I could go to work without considering how much daycare would cost, whether that would be worth it, and what price I would pay emotionally.
I could be entirely self-absorbed and nobody would suffer for it.
And now… now I have nursing tanks, filthy windows, screams of glee, toddlers who bite, bumped heads, sunburns, baby socks, wet slobbery kisses, demands for nursing, banana smeared on my floors, poopy diapers, fingers in outlets, half-accomplished tasks scattered everywhere, clutter on the horizontal spaces, dirty dishes… and the fullest heart I can imagine.
It’s worth it. Every single bit is worth it. I might allow myself to have small moments of narcissistic melancholy over the days that are past and the roadtrips that were peaceful, but there is absolutely no comparison to the looks of love that I get from my family every single day.
So worth it.