Secrets of being mom.

I'm going to share a secret.

Sometimes I bitch about my kid.

Did you know?

Of course you knew. You know me, right?

Sometimes I complain and want to cry and battle anxieties and take medication and feel like crap and get myself down and don't feel very fa-la-la-la-la-like. Was that enough las? Do I know? Should I care?

And other times I joke about how it must be 5 O'clock somewhere because I really need a drink - a drink I probably never really end up having, but how easy is it to consider a bottle of cider or a glass of wine when your shoulders are up past your ears and you're flinching at nearly every sound that surrounds you?

There are days where I shake my head. Drop my face into my hands. Say to myself, my husband, where have we gone wrong? Why won't she - doesn't she - does she - why? why? why?

She gets off the school bus and I hold my breath, waiting for a thumbs up from the driver.

She discusses her day and the color of her beehive is the first thing that comes out of her mouth. When it isn't green I ask her why. Not because I care - not in the way you'd think - but because I want to understand. Work with her. Talk to her and figure out what behavior happened or what went wrong and how I can teach her to avoid it in the future. So she can stay focused. Do what she's supposed to. It's school, after all.

I smile and take pride when her teacher tells us she's a great kid. I watch with slight awe as she walks around like the *mayor* of her school. She's hugging teachers left and right. High fives. Inside jokes. Smiles. Laughter. Not one person unhappy to see her. This is the child I know. I love. And the one I expect.

She doesn't shy away from strangers. Do I imagine she will someday? Sure. Certainly.

She questions. Challenges. Learns. Absorbs.

Lots of why-s. When?? How? Whatever question there is - she's got it.

Sometimes it's a lot. A lot of questions. A lot of talking. A lot of WORDS. TOO MANY! OH SO MANY WORDS. WHEN WILL THE WORDS STOP I JUST NEED A MOMENT OF SILENCE AND PLEASE CAN YOU ...

And then I think, don't stop. Don't stop talking. Don't ever stop learning and living and loving.

Please don't. Ever.

Because even though there are the days that I bitch and moan and cry and want to lock myself in the bathroom with a good book, a magazine, the iPad and a bottle of wine ... the rest of it? The good, the bad, the ugly and the amazing? I'd change none of it. From the colic-y nights to the hair dryer on permanent. The CDs with noises like rain and a washing machine. The diaper rash, the markers on the couch, the windows, the walls.

The nights where the only words at the tip of my tongue are "GO THE "F" TO SLEEP!!!" - Please for the love of all things holy go to sleep.

Tears. Hers. Mine.

My voice raises. I'm not a perfect mother. No parenting awards on my mantle. Does anyone have them? truly. She or he among us who have never raised their voice can cast that first stone or however it goes.

I apologize. So recently as this morning.

I was drying my hair. I heard banging. Knocking, maybe? I shut the hair dryer. Thought she was asleep. I was letting her rest. The banging stopped. By the time I heard it again it was about 10-15 minutes later. I walk in and she's in tears.

'My body hurts,' she whispers.

Oh no. Oh no. Awful mommy. I left her and she's got a fever and I'm obliviously drying my hair, and yes, reading a book while I do it. Sigh.

I'm so sorry, I tell her. So very sorry I didn't hear you.

'I forgibe you,' she responds, through tears. Sniffles.

I hold back my own and rush to take care of my baby.

Because I can. I thank my lucky starts that I can.

And because of that - I'll let her have two pieces of candy right now, at 11:13 in the morning. Because whatever, right? She's not feeling well and it's that kind of day. SO THERE! And you know what else? I just had some Chanukah jelly beans WITH her. Yeah. That's right. I'm a rebel. What of it? Do something rebellious with your kids today. You'll seem super cool and it'll make you feel really awesome. I promise.  

And if you're really cool you'll let her type and write on your blog for a minute and not get all flipped out that she might lose the post you just wrote up. Because you're just figuring screw it, it's just a post. And she's my kid. And what damage can she really do? I can totally write it over - even if it isn't exact - right? Right. Fortunately she didn't lose it so I didn't have to test that. Cause admittedly, it'd be easy to SAY but might not be my first reaction, ya know? 

*Also, I'm linking up with Kim over at her Secret Mommy-hood Confessions link-up today. It's a ramble of sorts, but I think it meshes.*

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