Here’s what I got so far:
Job Title: MOTHER
Job Description (courtesy of my good friends Miriam & Webster): a female parent.
Wow, fellas. How… descriptive. I sure hope you didn’t hurt yourselves on that one. Also, have I mentioned it’s pretty clear you two CAN SEE INTO MY SOUL?
I mean, I AM female, after all. AND a parent! And apparently…well…
that about sums it up.
Now before I go too far down the garden path here, let me say Motherhood is a badge I wear proudly. Well, most of the time. There are, of course, those days I forget to brush my daughter’s teeth until 5pm, those moments I’ve pretended that “obnoxious kid in the grocery store” isn’t mine and… if I’m to be perfectly honest? I was kind of an annoying “gestator” the first time around. (That said, I should probably take this opportunity to apologize to anyone who might still be suffering PTSD-like flashbacks after finding themselves inadvertently located anywhere between me and a sandwich during my 9th month of pregnancy).
With all that said, I hope my pals Miriam and Webster won’t mind if I take the liberty of crafting my own definition of motherhood. Or as I like to refer to it: that full-time, unpaid, all-consuming job that keeps on giving.
I am a mother.
Which means I am a gourmet grilled cheese maker, a professional attention-diverter and a record-holding escape artist. I can accomplish more now behind a single closed bathroom door than I did during a full eight hour work day in my former life (even amid desperate shrieks for my attention as chubby toddler fingers try to steal my soul through the inch of daylight beneath the door). I am a tamer of bed head, a killer of imaginary spiders and a drinker of wine… lots and lots of wine.
(Side note: Baby #2 is officially due at the end of March. In lieu of flowers, please send Pinot.)
I’m a believer in the hard stuff: Peroxide on an open wound. Consistent discipline. Talking– even about the difficult things. Especially about the difficult things. Eating vegetables. Striving to be a beneficial presence in the world each and every day.
I’ve made more mistakes than I can count but I don’t believe in Mommy Guilt (even though my child drank her own urine once). I am an overthinker. An oversharer. An overachiever. And I like my eggs (and my kid’s bedtime routine) over easy.
I’ve also been known to fight crime after hours.
You know, in between knitting projects.
No big deal, guys. Just typical “female parent” stuff, really.