Over the weekend, on my *one* day off, (if there is such a thing, right?) the fam and I were lounging about in front of the roaring fire.
We were warm and toasty and I was basking in the rosy glow of motherhood in one of those Hallmark moments when the kids are smiling, the hubs is exchanging sweet and loving smiles with you, and the world seems full of roses and small kittens. Or a beach, with perfect heart clouds to frame your happy little family.
I was holding Jake up in the air, munching on his chubby thighs, doing the “baby throw,” enjoying those baby gurgles that always make me all warm and fuzzy inside.
As I tickled him and watched him stuff his chunky hand into his mouth to stifle a giggle, I had the thought:
See? This motherhood stuff isn’t so bad! If I could just stop being so darn selfish all of the time, it would be a lot easier. Look how great things are right now!
And with that outpouring of love for my offspring came another sort of outpouring.
The kind of pouring that came from my son’s mouth.
Directly into my eyeballs.
Hot, burning puke. I didn’t even have time to close my eyes. Lovely.
I have to say that in my almost five years as a mom, I hadn’t yet been puked on in my eyeballs, so this was a parental first for me.
And an ironic one.
Because for me, the hardest part about being a mom is overcoming my complete selfishness. My desire for a productive work day. My wish for a peaceful, quiet environment. My hope for a day of relaxation and fun.
Me, me, me.
Who said it was about me? And who said parenthood was supposed to be easy?
I have my suspicions that it’s all supposed to be kind of hard. It’s a way to beat back the selfishness, slowly peel back the layers of ugliness and reveal the interconnectedness that we all share.
And for those of us who insist on being a bit more obtuse about the situation, demanding more me time and the chance to focus on our own individual pursuits…
Well, there’s always a good eyeball-full-of-baby-puke to cure that.