Motherhood Is Crossing Your Fingers – Scary Mommy

Motherhood Is Crossing Your Fingers

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There are a million different ways to define motherhood, to describe it. For me, trying to capture each and every grain felt important, because being a mother and loving your child can feel so extraordinary, insignificant, tiny and huge. All of this is motherhood, and motherhood has become all of me.

It is early rising and midnight waking, it is wiping noses and kissing bumps. It is the park in all seasons. It is water, sand and crayons. It is travelling heavy and never “nipping out.” It is laughter—so much laughter.

Motherhood is a shift in your relationship with you significant other; it is rare evenings out; it is talking in yawns and gestures. It is discussing diaper rash, weaning and sippy cups—with gusto. It is toys in the living room and a prayer for more sleep. It is different than expected and more than could be hoped for.

It is making sacrifices; it is rushing home for bed time. It is another trip to the Doctor. Motherhood is potty training and battles with medicine; it is making mistakes then making them again. It is guilt—so much guilt.

It is living things all over again. Motherhood is excitement at planes and diggers and dogs. It is hours in the garden. It is a tantrum at the store. It is forgetting half of what you knew; it is learning so much. It is feeling clueless—it is guess work. Motherhood is crossing your fingers.

It is milk and laundry—more, more, more. It is overwhelming, amazing, heart-filling. It is nursery rhymes and counting. It is please and thank you. Motherhood is the same book again, again, again. It is the everyday. It is the mundane. It is the extraordinary.

Motherhood is cuddles in the dark and company in the bathroom. It is a smile; It is home. It is discovering strengths and recognizing weaknesses. Motherhood is persistence. Motherhood is holding your breath. It is victories and losses, holding on and letting go.

It is changing priorities, a shift in perspective. It is odd socks and worry. It is a million photographs. It is crying and screaming; it is giggles and soft snores. It is losing yourself and finding yourself again—new, old, different, same.

Motherhood is slow walks in the sunshine and splashing in the rain—moments of pure happiness, the highest of highs. It is consuming. It is bewildering. It is messy. It is new friendships and resealed bonds; it is finally understanding your parents. It is marks on the walls and stains on the sofa. It is rejected dinners, it is love. Motherhood is love.

It is long days and short years, motherhood is. It is exhausting; it is exhilarating; it is everything.

All of this is motherhood.