It doesn’t get easier, it gets different.

I’m a mom.    

A happy mom, a sad mom, a confused and lost mom, a day late and a dollar short mom.  I feel all the feels, all the time.

My kids were young when I called my middle sister crying.  This is my ‘make it all better’ sister.  Motherhood was kicking my ass, double time.  Her kids at the time were teenagers. As always, she listened to me fall apart, and when I was done she calmly said ‘listen pal, it doesn’t get easier, it gets different’. 

What the hell?  Hello! I am calling for encouragement, not this shit.  If I wanted advice with no value I’d go ask one of my friends who doesn’t have kids, or the dog.  I don’t remember what happened next, but I’m pretty predictable.  I’m guessing I called my oldest sister, to talk about the weather and working into the convo, super casually, I would mention the advice I had just been given.  She in turn would have said ‘we’ve all been there Heidi Lindsay’ (she practically raised me so she can call me the wrong name all damn day).  Then, the super mature me, would have locked the bathroom door, sat on the rug, and cried.  I know this because this is still my trusty go to.  The older I get, the more open I am about it.  I. Hit. The. Floor.  It’s not always the bathroom (although, that’s my favorite), it can be the bedroom floor, closet floor, kitchen floor.  Every mom, no matter what, has their thing.  Maybe it’s a glass of wine, the entire pizza, going for a run, or perusing the Target clearance section.  Maybe it’s all of those things.  Maybe you drink, shove your face full of food, then run to Target to spend no less than $80 on shit you don’t need.  And if you do all of that, call me, because you are my new spirit animal. 

A lot of years have passed since that conversation, and I never miss a moment to tell a new mom ‘it doesn’t get easier, it gets different’.  After dragging myself up off of various floor spaces, I realized that was the best advice she could have given me.  Telling me it will get better was bullshit.  Telling me it will be easier once the phase is over, bullshit.  Because as moms, all we really do is trade one moment for another.  It’s what you choose to take away from all of it that matters most.

There will come a time when you will laugh with your girlfriends about when your kid threw up in the grocery store, or when you stepped on a Lego in the wee hours of the morning then proceeded to wake the entire family all while teaching your children all the amazing four letter words you had promised to never use in front of them. Now they chant ‘I fucking love Paw Patrol!’   You will remember the head in the banister, the lost woobie, and even the time your kid ‘drunk the ants’.  You will never forget the traumatization of the stomach bug, the lice, the strep throat, and the myriad of other ridiculous illnesses that your parents swear didn’t exist when you were a kid (and I’m pretty sure they are right).  You will spend the rest of your life as a mom trading one moment for another. 

And can we, for one second, stop with all the ‘they grow up so fast, you’ll miss this’.  Listen, sure, I will miss it.  But when I am in the middle of the checkout lane, with a limp child hanging from my arm screaming for candy, now is not the time to remind me of this.  I won’t think you are funny.  I won’t pass a fake smile your way.  I’ll do what I do best and use humor as a defense mechanism and say something like ‘can the mother of this child please come get him?’  And oh by the way, I feel as if you are picturing a 3 year old.  If that makes you feel better, keep with it.  But the brutal truth is that may very well be my 8 or 11 year old. Maybe not hanging, but definitely pushing me to my limit, flying over every speed bump, until I hit that proverbial wall called ‘MOMMY NEEDS A TIME OUT’.  For the record, I have yet to lay on the grocery store floor, but it’s certainly not out of the question.

We’ve gone from diapers, to Pull-Ups, to sports cups.  We’ve traded car seats for beating the crap out of each other in the back seat.  We traded nightly baths for trying to remember the last time you made your kid shower (do not act like I’m alone in this one).  So long sweet lullabies and hello video games and electronics.  The giggles have turned to eye rolls but the hugs and kisses remain and that’s what brings me back down after a day of wondering if I can do this anymore.  Not easier, just different.

There’s nothing in this world I wanted to be more than a mother.  It’s still to this day my greatest accomplishment. 

But, I refuse to rob myself of the feelings.  All of them.  It’s ok to laugh and cry and laugh and cry and eat and cry and laugh and eat and buy self-help books that you will never read (or just shop the unread selection I have to offer).  I will not apologize for yelling at my kids or having a bad day.  I will not say sorry for not being my fake best.  I’m here to show my kids it’s ok to be who they are, one moment after another.