I'm thickheaded sometimes, but I finally get it. It's clear as day. All of the faceless Internet trolls, who have never met my family, are making sense now. They have been trying to speak wisdom into my life for the last two years, and I haven't been willing to listen.
The last thing I wanted to do was play trains. I wanted to make a fresh pot of coffee and find my wallet. But that nagging voice said, "When you look back on this time, you'll wish you played trains with her while you had the chance." So, I sat down. "Build it, b*tch!" she said excitedly.
I happen to be a great negotiator. I can convince a toddler to eat broccoli, go potty in the toilet and wear shoes outside because I am dedicated to what I want. I'm also great at compromise.
Here's the ugly truth: We suck at doing it all. The moment the doctor handed me my crying newborn, it all stopped. I was not just Janie. I was Janie, the Mother of Sullivan. I became a mom, and for a time, I didn't care about anything else but my kid.
7:31 a.m. -- Prepare whole wheat, whole grain toast. Oldest child prefers bagels. Prepare whole wheat, whole grain bagels with homemade jam. Oldest child prefers honey. Prepare whole wheat, whole grain bagels with local wildflower honey. Oldest child takes one bite and spills on shirt.
Your tummy, the one you told Daddy is "fat," is actually perfect. It's the place I lay my head when I want to feel secure, at peace and taken care of. It has the perfect amount of warm padding I need to feel safe when I'm scared, calmed when I'm upset or relaxed when I'm tired.
Sadly, there are men who've been married for decades and still have no clue about what it takes to be a good dad or husband. Don't be like them.
Yes, we've come a long way, baby. We can join the workforce, bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan, and we can choose to stay home, take care of the kids, the homestead and start an internet porn business on the side.
The other day while talking with a friend about the ridiculousness of the so-called "Mommy Wars," I realized that regardless of whether a mom is working out of the home or in the home, both women are essentially spending their day doing the same things.
First, I plan to shower in silence (aside from the occasional toilet flush of a fellow member). The hot water will feel so amazing that it won't even bother me that the water pressure is exceptionally low and I have to wear my workout socks because I forgot flip-flops.
For some reason, I feel the need to make my decision more understandable to the person asking the question. Justified. And -- dare I say it? -- politically correct.
If I can show my daughters that there are many people who care about them and whom they can love in return, at least one part of my job as their mother will be fulfilled.
I'm just a mom and I'll never be the leader of the pack. I'll never win a race. I don't have any extraordinary talents or skills. But I have a mother's heart.
From the moment I heard Emma's shrill, loud cry as she emerged into the world, I knew that I would never again feel content unless I knew she was OK. When Charlotte arrived one minute later, floppy and quiet for a moment, that feeling doubled.
I don't mean to brag, but I do so many things. Things that are relevant. And important. And valuable. And invisible.
Instead of seeing banana-smudged faces that needed a wipe, or food-spattered pajamas that needed a change, I saw them.