Just Keepin' It Real

As I type this I am debating whether or not I should actually post it. I know that this is a sensitive issue for many people...in the last two days I've read no less than six blogs or statuses about how much this bothers people.

And I am starting to feel sort of like I need to come to my own defense...

I have been known to complain about my kids.

Sometimes I even complain about them in real time on Facebook. I know, it sounds horrible and I feel bad typing it. But it's the truth and I own it.

It's a coping mechanism.

On those days when I am at my limit and my darling little monsters are either totally oblivious or simply don't care I NEED to know that some one out there is having the same kind of day. I need to know it's not just me. I know that not every moment of motherhood is going to be sunshine and bubbles but I need to know that I am not the only one out there who is trying hard to have a good day and failing dismally. I am venting in an effort to get myself to the point that I can laugh it off. And I know that I can count on one friend in particular to laugh it off with me or for my Mom to tell me that I am doing a good job and to just hang in there.

And I need that.

I have four children and none of them were an accident. I tried, and prayed, and cried over becoming pregnant with each and every one of them. 

I chose this.  

I chose the exhaustion and mess and the whining and I don't regret that choice. Ever. I love my kids and I know that I extremely blessed not only to have them, but to be able to stay home with them. I just refuse to pretend that it is always easy. Motherhood is hard. Being grateful to be here isn't always easy.

And here's where is gets really dicey. I have a number of friends who have struggled with infertility. I do not pretend to know how devastatingly painful it must be to live that for years. I've only experienced a small sliver of your brand of heartache. I applaud you for being able to go on after years and years of unfulfilled dreams. But please don't tell me how to raise my four children or how I should feel about raising them. Because you. simply. don't. get it. And it's not your fault that you don't.

I'm sure not trying to hurt anyone's feelings here but you can't possibly grasp what it's like unless you've lived it. Having one child doesn't make you an expert on having more than one any more than my having four makes me an expert on having eight. And you can't possibly understand how exponentially harder it gets to be, simply because you haven't lived it. You have no idea how the exhaustion compounds right along with the cleaning and laundry. I don't pretend to know where you're coming from, how about you don't pretend to know my life?

My kids drive me nuts and saying so, or occasionally venting about it, does not make me a bad mother. It does not make me undeserving or ungrateful. It's simply how I best deal with the stresses that if bottled up would make me bitter and unhappy. I know that I am blessed. I know that I am lucky to be surrounded by chaos. I know that there are nights you would gladly take my baby. Believe me, there are nights that I would gladly let you. Just like you, I am doing the best that I can.

How about we mothers would stop beating each other down? How about when a Mom you know reaches out, how ever she chooses to do it, you reach back instead of folding your arms, stepping back and calling her a terrible mother? We mothers are the only ones who truly understand what we're going through. Does she need help? Does she need a laugh? Does she need a treat? Does she simply need to interact with someone who's more than 3 feet tall and speaks fluent, understandable english?

She's having a bad day, she needs help, and she needs to know she's not the only one. And judging her for admitting it isn't helping...