Oh my. I knew it would be hard in the hypothetical way, before we ever had all these kids running around. I knew it would never actually get any easier when my first born was anti-sleep. I knew it would only get harder when my cute little second born never EVER listens. (Oh, how I quake about his teen years...) I knew.
But as I am living and breathing this motherhood thing, I still KNOW it's hard, and it's never going to get any easier.
Today, I was so frustrated and disappointed with my eldest (He was making BAD BAD BAD choices! Choices that I assured him would land him in the slammer if he was old enough.) And I found I just had to walk away from him. Not because I was going to beat him or sell him to the circus but because I honestly didn't know WHAT to do or say.
Sharing is easy. You make the kid share. Hitting is not acceptable. All the little toddler-esque issues we deal with on a minute-by-minute basis paled. I didn't know what to do.
So I stepped away, leaving him forlornly on the time-out rug. I prayed. I thought, "Father, what am I to do with this kid you gave me? I mean, WHAT?"
I contemplated while I cleaned the kitchen. And while no huge revelations entered my mind, a solution that involved apology notes and confession seemed best. So, that's what we did. He's growing up, he's learning, and it's my freaking job to ensure that he grows up to be the man he is supposed to be.
Parenthood is like... hard. Way hard.