Happy Buhdertahday.

Okay, so I know this blog is still in it's 'baby stage', Hell, maybe even the 'embryo stage' depending how you look at it. (I know what you're thinking. Um, duh. It's the second post. This blog isn't even a speck in the vast universe of blogs or even the internet yet.)

I'm going to attempt to put aside my orneriness for a moment, because yesterday I broke my little toe, and holy f**k it hurts. But I don't want to talk about my stupidity, I'd rather focus on the joy and celebration that today is.

As of today I have been a mom, however sufficient and subpar, for a whole four years. Technicnally not until 9:47pm tonight. But I figure if you count in the 20+ hours of labor in there, somehow I don't think many will cast an evil eye on me for rounding up to say I've been a mom for a solid four years, right?
 Please send all aggreviances to my inbox at thesufficientmom@gmail.com. Please and thank you.
(All annoyed emails will be responded with a gif of a laughing Quinten Tarentino giving the thumbs up. Only because it's my favorite gif right now for anyone that annoys me.)

Anyway.
I can look back over the past four years and see how much has changed.
 See, kids? They're cute and stuff, sure. But they're also these life-sucking vultures that take all the fun out of everything you used to believe was fun. Like, fun vampires. Because, the damn things come in, they take over your home and your social life and your television, they change everything that was and make it what IS. But that's not the part that is annoying, really. Because, c'mon right? We all see that coming from the positive pregnancy test.

No, what's annoying is that they somehow manage to do it and YOU LIKE IT.

Yeah, there. I said it. My life is so different and haywire and stressful and crazy. Oh is it ever. :/ oh damn those little three foot tall monsters I birthed. They changed everything and still manage to make me like it. I get no sleep, my anxiety is through the roof, the marriage I once had is not the marriage I now have, I showered more in 2009 than I have in the last four years together, and Somehow I can be more aggravated, more irritated, and more pissed off than I think I ever have been- and BOOM.

ALL these little suckers have to do is smile, give me a kiss and wrap those pudgy little kid arms around my neck and suddenly I remember how nothing else actually matters.

But that's because nothing else DOES.

In the same sense I can say that I have cried more and doubted more, hurt more, slept less, and felt so lost in a way I never imagined possible in the last four years: I also can say without a doubtful bone in my body (even the broken one in my right foot) that I have had more joys, cherished days, happy tears, and unforgettable moments in the last four years than my prior 27 years.
Hands down, heart to God, all that corny stuff.

So that's something. Right?

And in this moment, as I somewhat crudely explain my undying love for my children, I must also commentate my love for the man who made our little crazy, mind-blowing, frustrating monkeys possible. It's his birthday too.

Four years ago at this moment, that man that married THIS hot mess, in all his imperfections, followed this girl in all her imperfections, as she wandered the hospital hallways on HIS BIRTHDAY and paused every 3-10 minutes to lean against a tacky taupe wall and breath through contractions. And we did that for hours, waiting for our first little human (in all his imperfections ha ha) to make his entrance at 9:47pm. It wasn't the best way to spend your twenty ninth birthday, but he never told me otherwise and if he had complained I would have directed him to my widening cervix and left it at that as an argument won.

So- Happy Birthday, and all my deepest love to two of the three most important men in my life. May we continue to survive and weather the storm for another four, ten, twenty or heck, unimaginable years of our family. I love you, I adore you, you are my reason for living. (Plus that little guy that follows us around. I like him too.)

I've been a mom for four years today. 

And I don't know where my kids and Mr G begin or I end, it's just. Us. 

That might be sickeningly sappy, but, oh well. I'll be rude and mean tomorrow or next week. ;)

Happy Birthday my loves. I couldn't do this without either of you. 

Xo

SM

Pre-Parenting

Before you become a parent, you have a vision in your head of exactly what kind of parent you will be.

It doesn't matter if you've been a nanny, or watched your cousin for three whole days, or babysat seven children regularly or if your sister had four kids during your teenage years- You may THINK you already have a solid grasp on parenting and how easy or hard it will be, and that you just know how you will handle every situation even before they present themselves.

Well let me shatter that ridiculous pipe dream right out of the gate; You are wrong.

All childless people have a romantic, classic Leave-it-to-Beaver, clean house and well behaved children picture in their heads, and I apologize, but that is just stupid. Really, don't be offended. It happened to me too, so I'm not judging.

I was in total bliss when I was pregnant with my first child. I would rub my expanding belly and fold adorable baby blankets in our impeccable nursery with matching bedding and cute little framed pictures of monkeys and alphabets and dream about how amazing my life was going to be, and what an amazing mother I was going to be. The smell of fresh banana bread as I did dishes and my cute little munchkin would sit on a pretty blanket in the living room and coo and giggle at me as I did dishes and soft music would be playing and then Daddy would come home from work and smile and kiss me on the cheek and be in awe of my crazy awesome parenting and housewifery.

Yeah, I pause to roll my eyes at myself. Feel free to do the same.

Fast forward four and half years- and here I am writing a blog about surviving parenthood in the same clothes I put on two days ago, I can't remember when I showered last, last night's dinner dishes are still scattered about the kitchen, and my Autistic four year old is dismantling the couch for the umpteenth time this morning as my one year old is dancing to a Yo Gabba Gabba song that is so ingrained in my brain that I very well may be humming it on my deathbed.

There is no scent of banana bread wafting throughout the house, rather the smell of the diaper pail and possibly rotting bananas from the fruit basket on the counter, and there is giggling to be heard, but at the expense of my unfortunately messy living room only getting messier.

Now, let me surmise this relatively horrifying depiction for any soon-to-be-parents just so as not to frighten you too much. While I sound terribly morose about this situation, that really isn't my intention. Frankly, you don't need me to break down your preconceived visions of parenting because you like all before you and after you, and me, will do that all on their own. It's a rite of passage.
Letting go of what you thought would be and accepting what IS 24/7, round the clock, joy and Hells's wrath- actual true parenting.

There will be days you just barely survive, and days you will finish and be so content and happy because, wow. You had an amazing day. Either way, you will look at that little monster you made as they sleep and you won't even care if you didn't clean the bathroom or make blueberry muffins that day. All that will matter is that you made it.

Don't misconstrue my words either, because while some of what I originally dreamed was dead ass wrong, but fact is not all of it was. The most important thing to remember is that no matter how much reality and your dreams differ, you aren't actually failing. You're living. There is a difference.

And on that- if you don't FEEL like you're failing sometimes, you're doing it wrong. Because no one does it, and I mean absolutely no one, does it right all the time. It's impossible. And when daddy comes home tonight, if my house isn't pristine? That's okay too. He is a parent, and he will still kiss me on the cheek and hug the kids and eat his tuna fish sandwich without a word because it's another day done, survived, and overcome. And that, my friends, is all that matters.


So when I go into the bathroom in an hour or so, and wonder why I still haven't cleaned the toilet, a second later someone will start banging on the door screaming and I will remember why. I'm a mom.

I'm not perfect. I can't do it all, and it all won't get done. But we will see tomorrow, and there will be laughter and tears (theirs and mine!) and that's sufficient. Thats enough. I wont let my expectations ruin reality or what actually is life and parenting for me. And if I can do that, and let that go, than anyone can.