A few days ago my youngest looked at me and said, “Mama, I want to be just like you.” Although I thought this was quite sweet, I replied with, “Thanks sweetie, but I want you to be you. Not anyone else but yourself.”
Some days I’m exhausted.
Some days I lose my voice from having to repeat myself a gajillion times.
Some days I question if I was really meant to be a mom.
Some days I want to curl up in a ball on the floor and cry my eyes out.
Sometimes I think I’m pretty good at the whole parenting thing. I sing Five Little Monkeys twenty zillion times a day. I play picnic on our living room floor. I read Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See before nap time for 37 days straight.