I growled at my daughter yesterday.  I mean like literally, growled.  She wasn’t even fazed.  All I can assume is that growling is just one more weird thing mommy does.

Motherhood.  Nobody warns you how hard it will be.  The lack of sleep.  The physical pain.  The endless bounty of patience required.  Our society, unlike many others, is so incredibly disconnected from what it takes to raise a child.  There are no discussions regarding what birth will be like, what nursing looks like, what methods of parenting seem to squelch minor uprisings.  Everything is done behind closed doors until it’s time for you to do it yourself.

I’m in a baby group.  I call it the ‘Follow Your Spirit Guide’ baby group because that’s what it seemed like after my time in the ‘Fancy’ baby group.  The Fancy baby group was full of fancy mothers who seemed determined to have their babies sleeping through the night and solving calculus problem by 4 months.  Needless to say, in the Follow Your Spirit Guide group, kindness and empathy were the themes of the day.  I listen to my child, I commiserate about much it sucks to not play with clay when it’s time to eat dinner, and I tell her I’m sorry when I lose my cool and growl.  We kiss and make up and I promise to try harder the next day.  Which I do.  But then something inevitably hits the fan and I find myself twenty leagues under the sea and without a sniff of oxygen.

And to think I’m not getting paid to do this.  Dismantling a bomb seems less exigent.


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