Frown lines, crow’s feet and laugh (anger, more like) lines around the mouth. Is this stranger staring back at me really me?
I look away from the mirror in agony, unwilling to acknowledge what age and parenthood have done to my face. Suddenly I’m sick of it all.
The petty squabbling, whining, fighting, attention-demanding antics 2 kids can come up with. The incessant talking. The ceaseless comparison. The 4yo acting like a baby. The 2yo trying to be independent.
The NOISE. Oh, the amount of noise that can be generated by 2 sets of young lungs is just. Incredible.
The repeated instructions. Shouts. Threats. Glares. Screams. Punishment. Repeat the cycle every 10 minutes.
The pep talks end up with broken promises. Disappointment sets in. Frustration mounts. Volcano erupts. The heart bleeds with despair.
Doubt drips like acid, gripping my heart. Did I really sign up for this thing called parenthood? Twice? Am I out of my mind? I’m sacrificing my youth, energy and time to have eternal war with them and myself, never to find peace again?
I cry inconsolably over the Pursuit of Happyness, because the 5yo kid depicted in the movie was so understanding and such a sweetheart, while my 2 kids just crack open my heart and blow my ear drums away.
Then, I see them happy together like this:
That they are still loving after receiving scoldings for being naughty. My tears well up. I’m blessed with 2 healthy and happy children. I think they’re worth my sacrifices afterall.
I’m still an apprentice to parenthood. Must. Work. Harder…