If you haven’t heard from your friend with small kids lately, don’t take it personally

If you haven’t heard from your friend with small kids lately, don’t take it personally.

It’s not that we don’t want to be friends anymore, it’s that we are so utterly exhausted by the end of the day we have nothing left to give to anyone.

Personally, I thought this whole stay-at-home-mom-thing was going to be a lot different than it is. That it would be more fun, less restrictive, and not as lonely were just a few of my misconceptions. But toss in a global pandemic and the isolation of being a mom with young kids triples.

We miss socialization. And the real world. And finding connections outside of our children. We miss dinner parties, dates with our husbands, and conversations with people other than a pediatrician. We miss effortless friendship.

This phase of life is different. It brings out the best and worst of us. It’s slow moving, yet fleeting. It’s suffocating at times and yet somehow refreshing. It’s weird and I don’t have the right words to describe the range of emotions I deal with each day. (Does anyone, though?)

This is just a bump in the road of life, albeit glorified by a pandemic, and one day we won’t have houses littered with diapers, hot wheels, and baby rattles. I hope we can connect then, when the nights aren’t as long and the days aren’t as loud and poop-filled.

Please accept this as a peace offering and an apology and know I’m still cheering for you even though we haven’t seen each other in months.

I guess the best part of all of this is that the next time I do get to see you, I’ll have some extra little friends for you in tow.

This post was originally published on Facebook.

There's a basketball goal in my living room

There’s a basketball goal in my living room.

A year or two ago this would’ve bothered me. Honestly, it probably never would’ve happened. Who puts a colorful, giant, plastic thing right by their front door so everyone can see it as soon as they come in? Not me. I had better style than that.

Well. Here we are.

I’ve been home with my kids a solid year now between covid-19, having a baby, and just winter in general. There’s not much home related that bothers me at this point, simply because if I let it then I would internally combust. Deciding to pick your battles apparently looks a lot like a basketball goal in your living room.

I’ve spent more time with my kids in the past year than I thought was ever possible, but each day they wake up a day older. And me too. I feel it now. It’s not something that registers each day, but it compounds as the weeks turn into months. One day your kid needs you for everything under the sun and then the next day they turn pretty self sufficient. It happens in little bursts that slide right by you, and then all of a sudden, BAM, they’re basically 25. And you want to cry about it, but at the same time they still need you to wipe their butt. So instead you just squish the wave of sadness down inside you and decide to deal with it when they’re actually really 25.

So today there’s a basketball goal in my living room.

And I’ve decided it can stay there as long as they want it to.

This post was originally published on Facebook.

Our love looks different now that we’ve had kids.

Our love looks different now that we’ve had kids.

It looks like my husband putting my favorite song on after the kids wake up, just because he knows I love it. It came on in the car and we couldn’t turn the radio up for me to sing at the top of my lungs, because, you know, nap time can’t be interrupted for any reason these days.

It looks like a tired husband washing a sink full of dishes at the end of the day because I never got around to doing it.

It looks like takeout on the couch and calling it date night, while folding laundry to something we want to watch on tv.

It looks like days filled with spit up, giggles, tears, snuggles, chicken nuggets, and love.

We don’t have enough time to for each other anymore. That’s just the stage of life we are in right now. Our love isn’t any less these days, it just looks different.

This different is the stuff teenage us dreamed about.

So I think different is okay for a little while.

This post was originally published on Facebook.

Therapy: The Best Thing to Happen to Me in 2020

A few years ago you wouldn’t have seen what you see on the Internet today. You especially wouldn’t have seen therapy talked about so openly — on the web or in person. Times have changed. People’s mental health has become viewed more as a problem with solutions instead of a problem labeled as a taboo and never talked about. And hallelujah for that.

2020 was hell in a hand basket, no doubt. Everyone had his or her fair share of struggles last year. We are all surviving everything that was thrown our way last year, albeit some are better at it than others. Some of us are floating, some of us are swimming, some of us are sinking, and some of us are in a boat paddling with oars.

Enter: therapy.

You can read the rest over on Knoxvillemoms.com.

My 2020 baby, you turn one here soon

My 2020 baby, you turn one here soon.

You didn’t see a restaurant until seven months old. You’re still scared of people with facial hair. You don’t like to ride in the car because you haven’t ever really had to.

Your first year of life was full of all the normal first year milestones, it was just that no one was around to see them. You still learned, grew, developed, and flourished. You taught me that independence, resilience, and strength can come from even the tiniest of people.

Your first year of life was a whirlwind. It was simultaneously the longest and shortest year of my life. You found your voice amongst all the silence, your determination within the loneliness, and your love within the people closest to you.

My 2020 baby, your first year has set the stage for all your years to come.

You can do anything, sweet baby. Even when everything is stacked against you.

Your first year proved it.

This post was originally published on Facebook.