I Won’t Miss the Mess

Fun fact: I cleaned my house yesterday.

Like spent a solid few hours cleaning my house.

I did the tidying thing.

The vacuuming thing.

Heck, I even did the wiping the finger prints off of every surface thing.

Things looked good yesterday night. Someone could “drop-in” and I wouldn’t be ashamed.

My house was cozy and my mind was calm.

Man, does a clean house make my mind calm.

But then this morning the boys woke up in a needy mood.

Which is meant we were going to be late for our morning plans.

Which meant I would be rushing.

Which meant I wouldn’t be putting things away as I went.

Which also meant the boys would be tearing things apart as a way to express their frustration and get my attention.

So, everything I did yesterday? All those hours I put in? You wouldn’t even know.

I mean look at this.

The diapers on the floor. The tree missing ornaments. The random pieces of cardboard and clothing scattered about. Not to mention the banana smooshed into the floor and milk spilled on the couch.

Anxiety.

This is what my anxiety looks like in the physical form.

This is what my mind looks like trying to keep up with everything on my plate.

Look, you can tell me that one day I won’t have little munchkins to clean up after.

I get it.

I cherish my moments.

But this living in a constant state of chaos thing? It’s killing my nerves.

This constantly cleaning and stepping on toys and feeling like I’m always in the middle of the same mess, drains me.

My husband pulls his weight.

I pull my weight.

We have bins and storage compartments and we tidy every. single. day.

But we can’t keep up.

Not in this season of life.

With two youngsters, ages two and ten months, we tend to find ourselves up to our elbows in stuff. Physical stuff, emotional stuff, financial stuff, just stuff.

And we try to purge and we try to maintain and we try to manage.

But there never seems to be enough time. There always seems to be something else.

There’s always stuff.

Quite honestly, this season of parenting looks a lot like my living room. It’s a lot of disorganized chaos.

And every day I give my best and honest effort.

Some days it falls apart.

Some days we keep it together.

Some days it looks like actual humans live here rather than a village of monkeys.

Look, I get it.

I get what you’re thinking and I know it, too.

I’ll miss having my babies tiny.

But man, guys. I don’t think I’m gonna miss the mess.

Actually, I know I won’t miss the mess.

Because the mess sucks me dry.

It takes up my time and then creeps back up on me on the bad days.

It’s reflective of the days I simply can’t handle the chaos.

It’s my Achilles.

I can honestly, without a doubt say – I’ll miss my tiny munchkins rummaging on the floor but I sure as hell won’t miss the mess.

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I’m Going to Have My Hands Full? I Had No Idea.

This piece was originally posted on Her View From Home

That’s it. It’s time to call you out.

Yes, you. The person who feels the need to interject their commentary on strangers in the grocery store, post office and yes, even in a public bathroom.

I’ve met you before – about a year ago – when my belly was busting at the seams and my ankles were overflowing from my shoes. You were astounded by my size and convinced there wasn’t a baby, but in fact a toddler swimming around my womb. And if I recall correctly, you rubbed my belly…just to be sure. Thanks again for that 😉

Now here we are again, a year later. My belly not quite big enough to draw your attention, but my situation appealing nonetheless.

You see us – me (pregnant belly and all), my husband and my one-year-old son – and instead of smiling at our beautiful (and exhausted) young family, you share a critical piece of information we may not be able to live without:

You know, you’re going to have your hands full.  Smirk, smirk. Giggle, giggle. 

It’s cute. It’s innocent. It drives me batty (that’s not the hormones talking).

I’m not quick on my feet to come up with a witty-response to your well-meaning comment. That’s why I’m taking it here – to the internet – to rant in all my glory.

Look, I get it. We’re going to be busy and I’m terrified. But, that whole having a newborn thing? I’ve done it. I know exactly how hard it will be and exactly what to expect. I may not know how to manage a baby on the boob while keeping my toddler Picasso off my walls or change a wet diaper while my older one decides my grandmother’s antique bowl is a potty… but we’ll figure it out, just like we did the first time around.

I love when you approach me and comment on how beautiful my son is or how my pregnant glow reminds you of a Christmas display. I’m not screaming, “Stranger danger!” when you come my way. But I’m not sure what the criteria is for the other type of comments. Is it seeing a parent with one misbehaving child? A family with two, three, heck, four kids? How many kids does it take to demonstrate a mastery in the art of multi-kid-tasking? (When I figure it out, I’ll let you know).

Whatever it is, please just try to smile and nod the next time you feel a parent is downright doomed (we kind of feel that way already and it’s always the last thing we want to hear).

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Now, to the parents. I know you’ve heard this before. Hit me with your best comebacks!