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.