Tag Archives: parenthood

Yes, my “big” kids still sleep with me

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Pitter, patter, pitter patter, little footsteps make their way across the hall and into our bedroom. Our youngest child, age five, crawls into bed with my husband and me.

Thump, thud, thump, big kid feet noisily follow suit, and soon our oldest, nearly 9, squeezes himself between the covers.

Four of us in a king-sized bed, which once seemed so vast and endless, now filled with our family.

All of us struggling to find our space, yet not wanting to leave. Snuggling close in a sea of arms and legs.

Our bed has always been open to our children.

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Two kids, two parenting styles

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brothers

I wanted to start this post with a clip from “Sex And The City.” Unfortunately, my countless searches on YouTube never yielded the needed results. Instead, bear with my summation of a particular scene, which until recently, I had know idea how on point it was on parenting.

In this scene, baby-obsessed Charlotte is visiting an unintentionally pregnant, and not-exactly-enthused-by-impending-motherhood Miranda at her apartment. Well-meaning Charlotte begins to lecture her friend on parenting, even suggesting a good spot for the crib. She proceeds to ask Miranda what type of mom she plans to be. To which Miranda has the perfect response?

“Um, a good one?”
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The ugliest feeling

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black-and-white-person-woman-girl

I often joke that becoming a mother turned me into a woman. That is if your definition of “woman” means someone who is emotional. Obviously, women and men can each have a varying degree of sensitivity, but I digress. Point is, before my first pregnancy, I was much more likely to mock the cheesiness of laundry detergent commercial than sob through it, and now, anything with a touch of sentimentality is enough to unleash the salty floodgates.

Blame the hormones. Blame the sleepless nights. Blame it on the rain. Whatever the reason, motherhood has me feeling all of the feels. One minute, I am elated by the sheer brilliance of my 3.5 year-old, the next I am frustrated by my one-year-old’s refusal to stay off of the furniture. This is the reality of parenthood I am sure you know well.

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