Raising Humans

When they say babies will change your world, they (whoever "they" are) don't just mean babies, they mean humans. These little people you give birth to - those people will change your world.

They will rock it and roll it and throw it and crush it.

"They" don't mean right after birth when you're so tired you could sleep anywhere and your body is so sore from being ravaged by giving birth. Nope. That part? It's a piece of cake.

"They" don't mean the toddler tantrums or having to repeat yourself a million times or even the inevitable grime that comes with toddlers. Nope. That one isn't so bad either.

And "they" certainly don't mean any of the elementary years. That's just plain easy.

"They" mean middle school through adulthood.

What. The. Heck. Was. I. Thinking?

Listen, I read the books and I listen to wise counsel but I still want to lose my ever loving mind. I've come to the conclusion that God has a twisted sense of humor because I am not at all qualified nor capable to be a parent of a tween or teen or young adult.

There are days I don't think I should be in charge of myself. For real.

No one told you that as a parent you can feel every single feeling possibly identified all at once. Those humans rock me. I would die for each one of them and then there are days I understand why animals kill their young. Raising humans is hard, people. So very very very hard. I can't even find the words to explain the challenges we face.

I can tell you that my faith is the only (and best) thing holding me together. I rely on Him today and will continue until the day I die... which could happen rather quickly since I'm raising humans who make my hair change colors - who knows what's happening to the rest of my body.

I gasp at 12.

Hey sweet Monkey -

What is happening to my little boy? You turned 12 just a few days ago and it seems 11 is far gone.

11 is when you gained a bit more control and got to decide more things for yourself.
11 is when you made many new friends.
11 is when you lived a whole year as a big brother to foster kids.
11 is the year that as a big brother, you helped me a ton by being my sidekick.
11 is when you started middle school.
11 is when you found your "style."
11 is when you decided you were going to try out for the school musical.
11 was a hard year and an easy year all at once.

But boy were you ready for 12.
I wasn't. I'm still not.

12 means you are that much closer to 13 and then 14 and then...
I want to keep you little forever even if it means going back to huge tantrums and crazy loud preschool days. I want to keep you little forever because I see the snuggle days slowly disappearing, I see the baby part of you slipping past.

I love you to pieces, sweet boy. You make me proud (and a better mom).
You are perfect just as you are.

I love you more than you'll ever know.
Mom
xo