I am the mother of a 2 year old.

I spend my days having tea parties.  I never get a scone.  Usually a paper carton of milk and a plastic pickle.

I can fix anything.  At the sound of “oh no mommy” I am on the job.  Spilled milk?  Ripped a toys leg off?  I’ve got this.

I am constantly thinking about what she eats.  What she’s eaten.  What she will eat.  Did she eat?  Was it enough?  Is she hungry?

I throw tantrums too.

The words, “if it is poop DO NOT put it in your mouth” have actually been spoken.

I bribe her with M&Ms, toys, ice pops, bubbles and anything else within my power.

I lose my patience.  A lot.  I am working on it.

I take a rocking horse’s blood pressure.  After he eats his morning carrots.  Every morning.

Sofia the first is my favorite show.  It beats the rest.

Boo-Boo’s don’t stand a chance against these kisses.

I try to explain to her that grabbing mommy’s boobies in public and laughing hysterically is inappropriate.  I have no success.

I go in her room every night.  I don’t leave until I focus on the rise and fall of her little chest, and I know she is safe.

Sometimes I need a time-out.

I sing silly songs and make funny faces.

I sneak spinach into everything I cook.

I am always thinking of ways to entertain her.  To teach her.  To inspire her.

Sometimes I feel like I run a summer camp.  Population of 1.

I am a short order cook.

I scrub crayon off tiles on a daily basis.

I know all the songs on sprout.  The dances too.

I wouldn’t trade it for the world.  All the spilled juice, skinned knees, kisses and tears.   I am the mother of a 2 year old and I am proud.  Proud of our ups, and proud of our downs.  It is impossible to be perfect.  Accept imperfection in motherhood.  Learn from it.  Grow from it.  You will be a better mother because of it.