Parenthood is an exercise in patience. Raising boys is often physically exhausting (how many times can one child climb the same chair/sofa/random body of furniture in any given day? DOZENS is the answer.)
First things first. I am an unabashedly positive person. Glass half full. Known to burst out in song. Hugging strangers. Eating chocolate after breakfast because YOLO. First one on stage at karaoke. Yada yada yada, etcetera etcetera and the like. YES, I have awful horrible bad days too, but overall you could say I’m pretty upbeat.
Sometimes the littlest moments in parenthood can just unwind you. Last night I was rocking Frankie to sleep in her dark room, sound machine locked on “gentle rain,” when the other Little Person opened the door walked into the room. “Mama,” he said, as he walked over to the rocking chair. (His little curls bounce …
The doctor’s office table was uncomfortable and my legs kept sticking when I lifted them to move around, but nothing could ruin that morning for me. I had marked the day on my calendar with a bunch of silly heart emojis and I was psyched.