Parenthood...

Wednesdays are hard.

It is slowly becoming my least favorite day of the week, even though I get the most out of it. Well. And it's also Hump Day, which if you live in this house, has more than one meaning to certain members of our family.

Boys.

On Wednesday, we get up early. I spend the majority of the day in two places. In church, among people I really just adore. And in the front seat of my car. I don't love that so much. Because I am truly not one of those on-the-go types of people. I do not enjoy it. I like being at home. I like doing my own thing. I like not having to load four people in and out of a vehicle all day and veer in and out of the left and right lanes on the highway because people don't understand the concept of "SLOWER TRAFFIC KEEP RIGHT!" 

But yesterday was different.

Andrew was supposed to walk the few blocks from his school to Mr. BFG's office after his club meeting while I picked up the little boys from choir practice. I was okay with it. I knew that I needed to let go and allow him that little bit of freedom that many of us were given at this same age. I let him ride his bike around the neighborhood and to friend's houses, this was only slightly different.

The feeling of anxiety started slowly. I let it grow and build all day long, reassuring myself that it was okay. I left Blake, Reese and Riley in the care of completely competent people, and went to the grocery store. Alone. Which, if y'all are anything like me, is a totally blissful experience. A miracle on it's own.

I walked each aisle aimlessly, hoping that it would pass. I made it to the cereal aisle before I started crying. For those who aren't sure of the layout of our grocery store, that ain't far. It's pathetically short, actually. But still, I pushed and even managed polite smiles and "excuse me's" before I finally decided to head to the check-out, pay and rush to the school so I could just pick him up.

He was disappointed. Probably a little bit embarrassed too, because what (almost) 12 year old wants his mom hollering frantically at him while he's messing around with his friends? Not mine. And after I grabbed him, I rushed back to church to wait for my little boys. Thankfully, they're still always happy to see me.

Parenting is hard. Damn hard.

I say this not only because it's true, but because all of this and more comes with the territory. I don't think I could even count the amount of sleepless nights and difficult decisions. My bank account shows very clearly the financial strain of activities and grocery store trips. There is a permanent dent in our bed from babies who grew into toddlers who grew into preschoolers who grew into tweens. My stomach bears the scars and shape of carrying twins.

And before I know it, they'll all be adults and I'll look back wondering where it all went.

Far too often, we find ourselves complaining about things that, in the bigger picture, don't matter. We resent our spouses for not helping or working later than planned, while not even thinking that for some moms there's nobody coming home at the end of the day to help. We complain about the mess and time it takes to bathe them, completely forgetting that for some families, bathing involves a chair lift or washing a child who might normally be capable of washing themselves but can't. We rush to get our babies to sleep through the night, trying every crazy method in every crazy book, hoping for relief. We never think that maybe this is a normal developmental stage that will pass when it's time.

If you can't put in the work to have kids, don't have them. If you're not ready to sacrifice your body, your mind, your time. Just don't. It takes time and effort and sometimes things happen that we just aren't prepared for. You're going to face adversity. You're going to be criticized. You're going to spend more money than you ever thought was possible on things like bananas and bread.

It comes with the territory. Get over it.