People tell you all sorts of things when they learn you are going to have a child, or even once you have one.
Lay them on their back to sleep so they don't suffocate.
Lay them on their belly to sleep so they don't choke.
Don't sleep with them, they will suffocate and if they don't they will sleep with you until they move out.
Don't put them in their own bed they will have separation issues and grow up to be promiscuous.
Spank your kids so they don't turn out to be disrespectful brats.
Don't spank your kids, you'll hurt their feelings and damage their self worth.
People tell you all sorts of things about how to raise your kids
(I'm especially fond of when this advice comes from people without children.)
But no one ever tells you how much they change you.
They never tell you how you spend the last few minutes of your night walking to each bedroom and making sure your babies are sleeping and ok.
People never tell you how you spend naptime exhausted and stuffing your face with treats you don't want to share.
They also don't tell you how you spend one minute staring at your babies thinking they are the best thing you've ever seen and the next minute trying to remember that you love them because they are driving you insane.
Or how you secretly feel guilty every day that you're not doing good enough.
People do, however, tell you (and you don't believe them until it's too late.) that one day you will look at your kids and wonder where the time went. I'm far from my children being grown, but my baby is three today and I can't for the life of me figure out where this year went. This past year we welcomed a baby brother, got potty trained, learned how bribery works, and grew like a dadgum weed.
And I don't know how it's already gone.
My baby isn't a baby anymore. He's not even a toddler.
He's a preschooler.
A kid.
Every day I'm surprised at how grown he is. And every day I wonder when he got so big.
The boy's personality cannot be matched and he keeps us laughing. He can be so loving and caring, giving hugs and kisses one minute and practicing his manners and the next minute be shoving his brother down and throwing a fit. I hear three is a nightmare. Two wasn't easy. My home has never been messier, my nerves have never been as worn. I have never been so tired.
But my heart is so full.
Even on days when I can't handle motherhood.
And even on those days, I am so blessed to be his mother.
There's a lot of "dear Jesus please let us make it to bedtime" praying going on in this house. But there's a ton of "thank you Jesus for these wild boys" going on too.
I like to think it evens out.
Little boy, I can't believe I have had you for three years.
Maybe you will read these one day, maybe you won't. If you do, please know as often as I joke about sending you home with strangers that you are the light of our home and we are
so blessed to have you in it.
You are your own little person and I hope you never lose your willingness to be yourself.
But as much as we love you, tell me thank you for not killing you. Two nights ago I held your little feverish body and caught your vomit in my hand. Last night you hit me at least fifty times with a ninja turtle stick. Seriously, buy me some flowers or something.
I love you, and I'm honored to get to watch you grow every day.
Lay them on their back to sleep so they don't suffocate.
Lay them on their belly to sleep so they don't choke.
Don't sleep with them, they will suffocate and if they don't they will sleep with you until they move out.
Don't put them in their own bed they will have separation issues and grow up to be promiscuous.
Spank your kids so they don't turn out to be disrespectful brats.
Don't spank your kids, you'll hurt their feelings and damage their self worth.
People tell you all sorts of things about how to raise your kids
(I'm especially fond of when this advice comes from people without children.)
But no one ever tells you how much they change you.
They never tell you how you spend the last few minutes of your night walking to each bedroom and making sure your babies are sleeping and ok.
People never tell you how you spend naptime exhausted and stuffing your face with treats you don't want to share.
They also don't tell you how you spend one minute staring at your babies thinking they are the best thing you've ever seen and the next minute trying to remember that you love them because they are driving you insane.
Or how you secretly feel guilty every day that you're not doing good enough.
People do, however, tell you (and you don't believe them until it's too late.) that one day you will look at your kids and wonder where the time went. I'm far from my children being grown, but my baby is three today and I can't for the life of me figure out where this year went. This past year we welcomed a baby brother, got potty trained, learned how bribery works, and grew like a dadgum weed.
And I don't know how it's already gone.
My baby isn't a baby anymore. He's not even a toddler.
He's a preschooler.
A kid.
A very cute kid.
The boy's personality cannot be matched and he keeps us laughing. He can be so loving and caring, giving hugs and kisses one minute and practicing his manners and the next minute be shoving his brother down and throwing a fit. I hear three is a nightmare. Two wasn't easy. My home has never been messier, my nerves have never been as worn. I have never been so tired.
But my heart is so full.
Even on days when I can't handle motherhood.
And even on those days, I am so blessed to be his mother.
There's a lot of "dear Jesus please let us make it to bedtime" praying going on in this house. But there's a ton of "thank you Jesus for these wild boys" going on too.
I like to think it evens out.
Little boy, I can't believe I have had you for three years.
Maybe you will read these one day, maybe you won't. If you do, please know as often as I joke about sending you home with strangers that you are the light of our home and we are
so blessed to have you in it.
You are your own little person and I hope you never lose your willingness to be yourself.
But as much as we love you, tell me thank you for not killing you. Two nights ago I held your little feverish body and caught your vomit in my hand. Last night you hit me at least fifty times with a ninja turtle stick. Seriously, buy me some flowers or something.
I love you, and I'm honored to get to watch you grow every day.
Happy birthday baby boy! Three looks good on you.
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