Last night, as I settled into my tub for what I had eagerly anticipated as my precious “me time,” I heard him. The unmistakable signs that my little whirlwind (affectionately termed my 2-year-old) was not nestled in his bed, as I had naively hoped.
First came the sound of tiny feet pounding down the stairs, followed by a high-pitched wail, and then a loud crash as my exuberant toddler burst through the bathroom door, which I had thought was securely locked. It may be due to my outdated 1960s door locks, but it seems that all he has to do is touch a door for the locks to give way. Except, of course, when he locks me out, and then that magical power vanishes. He then launched himself into the tub with me, sending my cup of tea flying and water splashing everywhere.
This, is Motherhood.
In an instant, I lifted him from the hot (some might call it scalding) water and began the awkward task of peeling his wet clothes off his squirming body. As soon as he realized his clothes were coming off, he stopped crying, thinking he was about to join me in the bath. I opened my mouth to scold him, to express my annoyance, or perhaps just to let out a frustrated sigh, but then I caught his gaze.
His eyes dropped, and his head hung low, waiting for me to utter a “no.” I would like to say I relented out of a surge of maternal instinct, but truthfully, I surrendered because I couldn’t bear the thought of enduring yet another tantrum that day.
This, is Motherhood.
Once he was undressed, he began bouncing with joy. I had to keep him from jumping in while I drained the scalding water and replaced it with a more toddler-friendly temperature that chilled me to the bone. I contemplated getting out and letting him bathe alone, but as I rose, he wrapped his chubby little arms around my neck. My heartstrings tugged, so I settled back down and placed my little one on my lap.
This, is Motherhood.
While I washed his golden curls, I couldn’t help but notice how much his hair has grown. As I scrubbed his feet, I realized they could no longer fit in my palm. I recalled that the last time he bathed with me, he was small enough to cradle effortlessly. Now, he was nearly half my height.
As he leaned his sleepy head against me, I remembered the molars he was cutting (which had undoubtedly led to our late-night bath session) and how the dentist had told me just the day before, “The next round will be in about four years.” In four short years, there would be no more baths with mommy to soothe him. How big would he be then? Would we have cut his hair? What would his voice sound like? And who would he grow to be?
This, is Motherhood.
At some point during our bath, my 9-year-old, who shares my passion for photography, snapped a picture of us. When I looked at it, I didn’t see my cluttered bathroom; instead, I saw a space where nighttime baths foster calmness, where I could pause and connect with my children. I didn’t focus on my disheveled appearance; I saw a joyful spirit in a body that has accomplished remarkable feats, the greatest of which is bringing forth life in the form of three incredible beings that I have the privilege of nurturing.
Motherhood is chaotic and messy. It’s about being firm yet bending, sometimes for the best reasons, other times simply out of sheer fatigue. It involves questioning choices and pondering what could have been done differently or better. Motherhood is about carving out time for oneself while simultaneously giving everything to your children. It’s a paradox; you often feel unsure if you’re doing it right, so you breathe through the difficult moments and inhale all the beautiful ones.
This, is Motherhood.
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In summary, motherhood encompasses a blend of joy, chaos, and love, embodying the ultimate paradox of nurturing and selflessness.