I don’t love motherhood.

Not every day. Not every hour. Not every minute. It takes so much out of me. Demands all of me. It is exhausting. It is overwhelming. It is all-consuming.

I don’t love the endless laundry and cleaning. But I do love teaching my sons how to be responsible and contribute to our household. The joy they get when they helped me clean the toilets or fold the wash clothes. I love knowing I am guiding them to be helpers in their homes.

I don’t love the middle-of-the-night sickness. But I do love that when they are sick, they still want me. They come into my bed and snuggle close to me for comfort. Because Mom is love and home.

I don’t love the tantrums. The meltdowns that are public and private. The ones that make me think I am failing them. But I do love guiding them through those tantrums. Showing my boys that emotions are OK. Yet there are correct ways in displaying anger, frustrations, and disappointments. I love seeing how they use what I taught them in the next meltdown.

I don’t love the constant sibling fighting. But I do love knowing they have each other and fighting is their way of communicating and showing affection. I love the peaceful playing and the shared interests they have.

I don’t love that my body shows the wear and tear of motherhood. The extra skin. The long stretch marks marking my hips and thighs. The dark circles under my eyes. The tired shoulders and back from carrying the weight of my sons and motherhood.
But I do love that my body shows the wear and tear of motherhood. How I can run my hand over my soft stomach and remember how it was huge and tight from forming my child inside my body. I see my breasts and am amazed how I was able to feed both my sons for a year. I love knowing this body has gone through so much to give me so much. I love knowing my body can be both a mother and a woman.

I don’t love the modern-day pressures of motherhood. But I do love that I have a tribe of women in the trenches with me. I can complain and vent to them and know that I am not alone.

I don’t love the back-talk. The eye rolls. The slammed doors. The “you are the meanest mom ever”. The “I want a new mom”. The sass. But I do love that my kids do this. My boys know they can do this and Mom isn’t going anywhere. Mom is safe.

I don’t love the interrupted sleep. But I do love that they interrupt me. They sneak into my room, into my bed, to sleep next to me. I get to cuddle close to them in the early morning hours.

I don’t love when they hurt. But I do love that I am who they come to when the hurting is too much. My hugs, my kisses, my presence helps soothe the wounds. One day when they are bigger and they no longer walk into my arms, I know that I have displayed what to do in those dark times. They will overcome obstacles, hardships, pain, and suffering because of what I have taught them and overcome myself.

I don’t love being apart from them and missing out on their lives. But I do love when they come back home. When they run through the door straight into my arms. When their eyes light up when they see me. I do love that I get to take the time to focus on myself when they are away. I get to recharge. So when they come home, I can be a better mother.

I don’t love everything about the everyday routine of life. But I do love the extra things I get to do with my children. The Friday pizza and movie night tradition. The Christmastime family date night. The birthday celebrations. The Halloween excitement. The little moments that are special among the everyday routine of life.

I don’t love how quickly they are growing up. But I do love watching them grow.

I don’t love how motherhood stretches me. Forcing me to show up every day. Demanding me to live differently. Love unselfishly. Pushing me to my breaking point.
But I do love how motherhood stretches me. Forcing me to show up every day. Demanding me to live differently. Love unselfishly. Pushing me to my breaking point.

I don’t love how motherhood has changed me. But I do love how motherhood has changed me. For I have become more. More patient. More loving. More enduring. More giving. More.

I don’t love motherhood. Not every day. Not every moment. Not always.

But I do love motherhood. Not every day. Not every moment. Not always. And that is OK.

Originally published on the author’s blog