I love my kids. 

Sometimes I watch them and I’m brimming with pride. They amaze me with how quickly they sponge up new information or how courageous they are in new situations. They make me giggle when they burst out with a phrase that sounds like me but is far beyond their few years on this planet.

I love them. They inspire me to be my best. To show up. To not give up. 

But honestly.

Some days they break me.

Some days are hard. Many mornings, there are tears and tantrums and feet stomping and dirty diapers. And it’s barely 8 a.m. 

Sometimes the overflowing of joy is nowhere to be found. Sometimes I have to sneak away for a moment, just to sit down and cry.

Sometimes I have to catch my words before they slip out of my mouth and add fuel to an already blazing fire.

Sometimes, I have to do the hard things.

We don’t always shine a spotlight on the hard times. I mean, shouldn’t I be so grateful for these gifts I have been given? I shouldn’t complain when so many others would give their right hand to have the life I have.

Honestly, I am so thankful. I am so incredibly thankful.

Motherhood is teaching me that I am beautifully broken. This is a beautiful thing, being moulded and shaped into the person that you were always meant to become.

But honestly, sometimes that just looks like a broken mess. Sometimes becoming beautifully broken looks nothing like the beautiful butterfly, and everything like the poor caterpillar who is being painfully squished into a dark and confined space.

Sometimes, as moms, we just have to do the hard things.

That means not just getting up, but showing up. Even if we are not leaving the house. It means getting ready for the day, even if today will look like every other day that’s been for the past month. It means taking motherhood seriously and aiming for excellence, even if that means wiping snotty noses and dirty tooshes more times than I’d care to remember. Even if it means showing love and patience through yet another tantrum about something which seems ridiculous.

Sometimes, often-times, being patient is hard. It’s hard being patient with someone who is wailing in your face or complaining about the food you cooked or pulling out all the clean laundry you just folded.

If I’m honest, sometimes I don’t want to show up. If I’m honest, I often lose my patience. If I’m honest, I can’t do this motherhood thing without God’s grace.

But I’m a mom, and I choose to do the hard things.

I’m a mom, and I need God’s grace.

I love my kids. 

Even though some days they break me. Even though some days I feel like I’m becoming undone. It’s actually in this breaking and undoing that I am being crafted and pieced together into the woman I was created to be. 

I love my kids. 

Honestly, I do.