Today’s post is sponsored by the maker’s of Children’s Motrin.
I rarely use quotes on this blog.
I find it burdensome to be tasked with actually remembering who says things when often I can’t even remember people’s names. Plus, generally, I think I caption my life quite sufficiently so, you know, why bother?!
Every now and again, I read something, or hear something that someone I respect and admire and enjoy lol-ing at has said and I think, “Amen, sister. Just, yaaassss.”
Tina, she is good for that.
Her notes about her experiences as a parent and her dreams for her daughter make me say yaaassss quite often. As infatuated with my DudeMom life as I am, I’d be lying if I said some of her words didn’t make me long for a daughter so I can one day watch her wipe poop offa her baby’s neck, but you know, I have what I have and I’m grateful for that.
In fact, everything about mothering these boys has exceeded my expectations.
Like every woman who becomes a mother, I didn’t realistically anticipate what this experience would do to my life.
I figured I’d get chubby, I imagined I’d be exhausted, I planned to refocus my goals and drive down a new path with the needs and dreams of another empowering me. Only, call me short sighted if you must because I didn’t plan for this chubby, or this tired, or this level of excitement over seeing them just breathe.
And I didn’t anticipate how full they would make me as a person.
I know, the ideal situation for entering into motherhood is one where you are a fully developed, contributing member of society who can impart knowledge and wisely lead your children down the path to adulthood. You are supposed to be securely you. You are supposed to live for much more than them. They aren’t supposed to be part of your growing up. They aren’t supposed to be the primary source of your joy. They aren’t supposed to be your everything –they’re supposed to be your addition.
Suppose-susmoshe (what? Nothing rhymes with suppose, okay?!).
And also reality.
When you’re a poor, first year teacher with a boyfriend and a studio apartment who finds out you’re pregnant well before you’ve had the opportunity to really experience solo life, and before you’ve really gotten around to securing you, and before you’ve even gotten used to adulting on a daily basis, you maybe don’t even know who you really are yet, and you probably don’t have a clue as to where you’re going.
When you’re that person (and your partner is too), you do what you can, never mind what you’re supposed to do. Every moment is a challenge, and the enlightened raising of another human who looks at you like you know things, even when your tear stained face, snotty nose, fuzzy hair, and barf scented sweatshirt say, definitively, that you do not, seems desperately out of reach.
When you’re that person everything seems impossible.
But there is something in those eyes and that look that gives you just enough of what you need to keep going. You put your chubby shoes on your chubby feet and you haul your exhausted body out of your exhausting apartment and you continue on the life path you’ve landed on with a purpose you never imagined you’d ever have. Because those eyes and that look convince you that you must.
And eventually, you wake up one day and you’re on a different path. A happier, slightly-less-chubby-but-still-remarkably-exhausted path where you can see past the impossible into the future and you realize you feel excited and positive and kinda even brave (but still really scared because TEENAGERS).
It’s then that you realize that they did this. They helped you become this powerful, focused, happy, less chubby, still-not-able-to-catch-up-on-sleep-but-basically-unstoppable mother who looks at impossible and lols in its face.
They did that. They made me happy. They made me unstoppable. They made me, me!
Share your unstoppable mom story with Children’s Motrin by making a book cover with your kids here: Celebrate Unstoppable Moms. Every time you do, and angel gets its wings and a book will be donated to a child in need via their Scholastic partnership.
Note: Kidding about the wing thing, not the books.
Disclosure: This post was sponsored by the makers of Children’s Motrin and their My Unstoppable Mom campaign. I was compensated for sharing my story, but all chubby shoes, sleepless nights, and opinions are my own.