The thing about parenthood is that you need to become very self-encouraging. There’s no coach or boss telling you what a great job you’ve done, and many days the only thanks you get is the faintest smirk on a sleeping child’s face. A child who finally, reluctantly, nodded off to sleep. After a long day, that is victory.
When my baby is teething and in “mommy mode,” I manage to tuck him into the crook of my arm and single-handedly screw the top off of his bottle and pour thawed breast milk out from an awkward container with a too-large mouth. I keep telling myself I’ll buy something different, something better, but I don’t. I manage to use this same flimsy dish over and over again, without spilling OR dropping my baby on his head. Success.
I don’t get the dishes done, but I get dinner on the table. Go me.
Some days, I construct a jumpy apparatus all by myself. That thing can hold an entire person! I may lift a heavy couch to fetch some wayward pacifiers and even mount a baby swing to the ceiling…all while clutching a cell phone to my ear and using my knee to gently wrangle a child away from my quad espresso. Cirque de Soleil has nothing on these acrobatics.
I know that baby wipes are the best way to get stains off of microfiber, and dryer sheets are a good car freshener. I am a domestic goddess.
Today I will acknowledge and celebrate these victories, because they matter. Even if nobody else is around to see them.