After an episode, my mom and I have the same conversation every time. I tell her thank you, eternally, for letting my daughter and I crash here while she works her tail off to support our family. She tells me she loves me, that I'm a wonderful mother, and that she's proud I'm not one of the girls on the show. (Me, too. I wouldn't handle the monster truck rallies and/or Nascar so well. The Tweety bird tattoos on my back wouldn't work so well for me, either.)
Tonight, after seeing the 17 year-old leave her tired mother with her child for the umpteenth time to go to raves at the beach, I thought of things I would love to do that aren't necessarily Finley-friendly. These include stalking Apolo Ohno full-time, taking a hot bath ALL BY MYSELF in a house ALL BY MYSELF while listening to Radiohead really, really loudly, and spending any extra money on D.I. books instead of diapers.
I trade all those things daily for my sweet little girl, and happily. I don't brag often (and I'm not sarcastic AT all), but I'm proud of myself for getting it from day one. Motherhood means certain things, and these include:
--Rarely eating your dinner hot or with the rest of the family
--Sometimes not seeing the climax of the movie
--Pumping breast milk while blogging
--Pumping breast milk in the corner of the room while others try to ignore you
--Being banished to your room to pump breast milk because others think it's gross
--Waking up early
--Going to bed late
--Showering with the door open, learning to do your makeup in 6 minutes flat, and wearing clothes that constantly have milk stains all over them
--Sore wrists
--Sore nipples
--Sore ass
--Sore head
--And many more uncomfortable, unforgivable, and unspeakable things...
...All of which are completely worth every second.
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