Hold On

by Cookie

I haven’t been blogging so much these days, Bitches.  It’s not for lack of desire, it’s for lack of arms.  As in, I only have two and since I also seem to have two children, well, you know.

There have been a few things on my mind recently.  And one so very sad story that I can’t stop thinking about.  I’m not sure it’s appropriate to tell someone else’s story, so I won’t, really.  Let’s just say that someone else’s loss has changed the way I look at my family.  Especially my tiny monsters.  Especially them.

The second you become a parent, you immediately know what it is like to truly love someone else.  I’m not talking about butterflies in the stomach, can’t wait for him to call, put on your party dress love.  I’m talking about taking a bullet, lay down your life, would sacrifice anything and anyone else to keep them safe love.  The kind where even the thought of spending one day on Earth without them is enough to make you feel sick to your stomach.

The second you become a parent, all those stories in the news about a child dying from cancer or in an accident hit you so hard, because it makes you imagine something you never want to think about.  You can immediately empathize with the strangers on the screen.  Parenthood seems to bond people together because you have a common cause, I guess.

I spend a lot of time making jokes about the weird things that my kids do.  Some folks are taken aback at the things I say.  That’s how I deal.  I make jokes in difficult situations because I figure if we’re still laughing, we’re not sinking, right?

But this.  I can’t.  Not ever.

All I can do is remember to love every single tantrum.  Every freak out and every spilled cup of milk.  Every single explosive shit up the back diaper and sleepless night. I love the giant boogers and the screaming when I try to brush her hair. Every morning that I spend trying to tidy the kitchen from the disaster of the day before.  The nights I spend driving my Buddy around just trying to help him sleep.

I can do less work and play with my children.  I will stop resenting the interruptions when I’m on the phone or trying to practice and be thankful that I can choose to spend that moment putting a train set together.  I will remember how it takes 30 minutes to get them both dressed in the winter for 10 minutes outside before our balls freeze off.  I will stop apologizing when I say no to more work, because I’m not sorry, nor should I be.

I will love them every second of every minute of every day even when I am crazy from exhaustion and my last nerve is being danced on.

Because you just never, ever know.

Hold on to your babies tight.  Make them know they are loved.  Don’t worry about tomorrow, just cherish today.