When does it get easier?
a note on what is probably the wrong question to ask, but it plagues me anyway
I missed a Facetime call from my sister at 7:28 am. I could have answered it, but I was undressed, freshly out of the morning shower I take quickly while they watch Daniel Tiger or something, and trying to finish the rest of my “get ready” tasks while my three littles were otherwise occupied. I needed A FEW MINUTES, ya know.
Twenty minutes later I figured I could quickly catch up with her (and my bebe nephew) before our nanny arrived (8 am). Making a smoothie for my middle, eating the rest of my breakfast/snack/food thing, and checking in with my sister. Two little kids on kitchen stools craning their necks over the counter to “help” with said smoothie. What could go wrong, RIGHT?
My youngest (19 months old) slipped from the stool he was on, nailing his mouth on the counter on the way down. He tumbled backward and caught himself on the kitchen floor. I muted the speaker to spare my sister from his high volume shrieks, which, to be honest, often make up the chorus to the soundtrack of our days. Sort of a crying-wolf thing, but as I got down to comfort him, there was blood. A lot of it, actually.
“I gotta go! He’s bleeding. Bye!”
I spent the rest of the hour chasing him around with a damp washcloth trying to wipe blood off of his face, the floor, and my sleeves, and to assess the damage. Which, of course, he didn’t consent to. Oh and YES I SURE DID pour two smoothies into two toddler cups with screw-on-tops and straws and used the damp bloody washcloth to clean up little smoothie spills for the next 12 minutes.
No baby teeth were lost, no toddlers sustained long term damage. Smoothie: 8/10.
Our nanny arrived on time (bless), and I just took A MOMENT.
Sat on the armchair.
Sighed.
For fucks sake. It feels like it’s always something.
And now we switch gears to preschool drop off!
When does it get easier?
This is the question that plagues me. WHEN. DOES. IT. GET. EASIER?! Every day, my brain asks my soul this question. When when when.
And every single day my soul says, I don’t know, brain. I. Don’t. Know.
I both know it’s not the “right” question to ask, and I can’t stop wanting a universal answer.
When will I have a morning where I’m not cleaning up blood and spilled smoothie off my floor in the same 30 seconds, with same damn washcloth?
When will my kids regularly sleep beyond the 5 o’clock morning hour? When will our youngest consistently sleep past FOUR FORTY-FIVE A.M.?! I need to know.
When will I have a full week of working(-from-home) that doesn’t involve one of my kids getting a glimpse of me as I try to sneak back upstairs to my office, resulting in tears and “Mommy don’t go work!” and me on the couch for a few minutes to soothe them but also to try and eXplAiN to a 2.5 year old that I work, and I need/want to? (When will my husband have to have that conversation with them?! He is owed at least 127 meltdowns about why HE works.)
When will there be a night that they take themselves to “tinkle” at 2 a.m.?
When will we consistently plop down on the couch after bedtime baths, books, and snuggles to an evening without someone quietly sneaking back down the hallway, peaking their head around the corner, and saying I’m not tired?
When will there be a weekend that we spend doing just the right amount of activities for just the right amount of stimulation and energy outlets for the kids, that doesn’t put someone over the edge into a hunger/fatigue/boredom/sibling rivalry meltdown?
When can we go to a restaurant without packing a bag of toys and the iPad and order something they might actually eat and maybe even eat our own food without run-walking circles around the restaurant catching one or two kids who just can’t sit for another second?
When will I feel like I’ve found my way as a parent of three kids who also wants to work and run and write and drink warm-ish coffee on the weekends without reheating it four times (but iced all the other times!)?
WHEN.
I’m craving a light at the end of this season-of-parenting tunnel.
I’m treading through, sometimes drowned by, the guilt that I’m doing this phase—when they’re all so little, so damn smooshy, so present and here with us—wrong.
I know that isn’t true, and yet. I feel it.
I’m dreaming of a closet that isn’t full of diapers and wipes. Of a hotel room on a ~vacation~ that doesn’t feel like a cage, lights out at 7:30 pm with nothing but the light of our phones for another hour or so. Of a road trip where I can sit up front with my spouse, instead of us rotating between the driver seat and the middle row assignment as snack deliverer.
I’m wondering what I do for fun, besides play with my kids and take in experiences with them, which is sometimes fun but not always my first preference for FUN.
I’m picturing a season of life when being in my car, alone, doesn’t feel like such a quiet, still, luxury.
I’m writing this knowing that there’s no way to really capture it all. I could edit it 16 times and still wonder if the truth of it all is here.
I’m curious about how much more space my brain can create to hold the mental load of it all. It feels like a Narnian closet of needs, finances, check ins, caretaking, and surviving with some glimpse of who I am.
I’m also curious—but refuse to be anxious—about how an essay full of venting will be received. I’m resisting the urge to apply a thick layer of frosting that balances this out with “I love them so much” and “We’re lucky” and whatever else it is parents (MOMS) are supposed to say about parenting that makes the reader/consumer think it’s all okay because SHE IS OKAY, SHE FEELS LUCKY AND LOVES THEM AND STUFF.
I know, truthfully, some things make it all easier (hello, childcare!) but nothing makes it easy.
(I actually already wrote that exact thing, when we “only” had two.)
I know that we are in the dripping-with-children season (thank you for that, Glennon), and I know it’s impermanent. But what I really DO NOT know, is when, if ever, it all gets easier, or when I’ll stop asking the universe this unanswerable question.
Hey - just here to say I love this venting post. I have three littles - twin 3 year old boys and a 1 year old girl. I feel everything in this post immensely. I also have help and work full time. It’s so HARD. And it’s hard to find safe spaces to say these things without having to add, of course I love my kids, but this is really HARD. I’m so tired of being touched all day, for having to carry the baby around so she doesn’t eat dog food or get smacked by a toddler. Of boy really being able to anything because of two nap schedules that I don’t want to give up. Of being SO TIRED! Anyway, I needed to hear from someone else in this life stage and this helped me today.
This matches how I’m feeling so much, the 5am wake ups!