There were days I thought she would never come. Days I watched women exit the grocery store, red faced, sweating, veins throbbing in perfect timing to the song of, "Mom, can I have?" and "he hit me," and "I just wanted oooooooone mooore coooooookieeee..."
No person in her right mind would envy that grocery-store woman. But after years of longing for a child... I was no longer in my right mind.
It only fed my mother-obsession to watch kids trash the waiting room at my infertility appointments. I made silent, ugly promises to myself, like, My Child Will Never Act Like That, and, My Kid Will Never Watch Television Just So I Can Have Some Peace.
There is no punch line here because anyone who is a parent is already snickering.
Now the Tiny Human, the one I waited for, the one I thought would never come... is here. And she's one year old.
And that's really all I need to say about that.
I love her. The one who squeals when she runs out of Cheerios in the checkout line. The one who is pacified by the Sesame Street puppeteers that live in my iPhone and are on-call at a moment's notice.
I wouldn't change a thing. Except maybe giving her a sibling. Because really, in the deepest part of my heart, if I'm honest with myself, I must be... a masochist.
Which is honestly just another word for, "Mother".
Q4U: if you have kids, how do you balance parenting with writing?