In the words of my Uncle Hank, Sheesh. It was a day today. It shouldn’t have been. The two olders are away on “spring break” for a couple of sleeps. And so I was elated for the glimmer of a little breather. Or rather, some one-on-one time with just one bambino.
So of course, cue the ear infection. Oh, sorry. InfectionS.
On Thursday, I carted all three boys to the doc’s after Jonah’s nose had been on continuous drip for nearly 10 days. Accompanied by a raspy, rattling cough. And absolutely ridiculous behavior. I’d been hoping it would blow over. But sadly, it only seemed to get worse day after day. Which meant our household was bearing the brunt. Add in the fact that Harrison also joined the coughing club and one upped with a fever, and I felt that we’d be best to get to the bottom of the bugs before the weekend. So a BOGO {bring one, get one free. I wish} was in order.
And… YAY… we won the prize o’ the day. We left with four infected ears. With a sinus infection thrown in for good measure. Take that, met-deductible.
But it wasn’t all bad because we were delivered a bit of manna from Heaven {thank you, sweet Jesus} when Harrison slept entirely through the night on Friday {and mama woke up lookin’ like Dolly}. That was a gift.
And sure enough, after batting 500 at the Breastaurant today and resorting to bottles and pumping for the other feeds, when my husband walked in the door post-work, I unravelled. I cursed {I really need to work on this. And I will. But not today, apparently}. I snipped. And I cried. Because nursing is sometimes enough to make me completely insane. Partially because I am ultra-sensitive regarding my babes’ weight gain. And feel like it’s my job to make that happen. And then the other obstacles. With the diet. The crappy latch. And the still 45 minute feeds. I, somedays, am just over it.
I talked to the hubs. I called my sister. And a good friend. And made one last ditch effort before I brought out another bottle. And, voila, H dogg got on board to the boob. Instead of him thrashing back and forth, he finally latched. As I walked around. And did a little jig. While holding him upright. Basically a frameable moment. One that no one ever talks about in birthing classes. Or What to Expect.
Boo hoo. Some days this parenting stuff is hard. And some days. SOME. I think I make it harder than it needs to be. Because it’s something that I can’t ever separate myself from. Do you feel that way, too? I would guess you do. Because as I’ve blogged about before, parenting is not a job. It is a way of life.
I wrote this post, The Role of a Lifetime, after I had Barrett. It just struck me that for every job. Every occupation. There is an interview process and yet, to be the proud owner of your very own human, it may just take some a bottle of Tequila.
So today. After my mama meltdown, I hopped on the BookFace for a little escape from reality, and this popped up in my feed.
Perfect timing.
Parenting is not easy. Not every day at least. But then again, there is not anything that is easy, and lovely, and rewarding, and joyful, and such, every single day of life. But, I think that, at least in my corner of the world, there are still always good parts to be found, even amongst the rubble.
Like today. Today I watched that clip, and thanks to American Greetings, I had a good cry. And felt relieved. Relieved that someone else thinks this job sounds hard. This thing that all of us as parents feel on an every-second-we-are-breathing basis. And had the selfish hope that, maybe, if I do more things right than I do wrong, my kids will someday be grown and want to say thanks to me, too. And that made me cry a little bit more.
I think… or am fairly certain… that the sun will come out tomorrow {though with Nebraska’s current bipolar weather, that is always a bit up in the air}… and that Harrison will be back on the boob with best of them… And perhaps, I even won’t captain the crazy train wheny husband walks in the door {sorry mister hubs}. But that perspective didn’t make today any easier when I was immersed in the moments. When I could not assuage the littlest’s pain. Or in the last couple of weeks. When I couldn’t seem to mediate between the middlest and biggest when biting and hitting ensued. Or in the overnights. When I just don’t wanna hafta get up. Even though it’s not really that big of a deal to do so.
So I say, this parenting thing, very well could be one of the #WorldsToughestJobs.
I wouldn’t doubt it, one bit. Because if given the qualifications. Or given a list of what it makes you give, like in a post I wrote, Playing With Fire, I don’t think many would think yeah, that. I wanna do that. I don’t know if someone had told me six years ago that I would be eating 7 foods {no hyperbole. AT ALL. Okay. a little.}, walking around my living room half naked, holding my kid upright while he screams and I cry… patiently {ahem} cajoling him to nurse… I just don’t know that I would have signed up for this. Heck. Sometimes I go back and read posts of mine and think, wow. that was clearly a low point. But oddly and miraculously, somehow parenting alongside the man who holds my heart is the very best thing I can think to spend my existence doing. And these little people we are raising. I love them to pieces. From a deeper place than I knew existed. Riddle me that, Batman. I don’t get it either. And I don’t know that I ever will.
So maybe it is the #WorldsToughestJob or maybe.. Maybe… It’s the #WorldsBestToughestJob.
Yeah. That.