This is 32.
This is waking up to the kids as alarm clocks.
This is slow mornings full of breakfasts, Mickey Mouse, and cold coffees.
This is spending countless hours cleaning that damn highchair.
And wishing we just had a dog.
This is one meltdown after another.
This is counting down the hours until 11am for naps.
And then counting down til 7pm for bedtime.
Does that make me a bad mom?
This is never knowing my husband’s schedule.
This is wishing he was home more, but knowing he wishes he was home more, too.
This is juggling being a stay-at-home mom & a work-from-home mom.
This is trying to find a balance.
I’m not sure that exists.
This is being so inspired to create beautiful paper things.
But knowing I just can’t do it all in this season of life.
This is a million trips to the park.
And a million tantrums to boot.
This is bribing my three-year-old to get dressed.
With three chocolate chips.
Because he’s three years old.
This is craving more one-on-one time with my husband.
But utterly exhausted when he walks through that door at night.
This is just wanting to stay home for a morning.
But knowing everyone will be happier if we just get out of the house.
This is the babysitter hustle.
Cramming work, the gym, and errands in those few precious hours each week.
This is a car ride sans-kiddos is a treat in itself.
This is prying rocks, sticks, and leaves out my of daughter’s mouth.
And knowing another tantrum is going to follow.
This is being a full-time diaper changer, butt wiper, boo-boo kisser, and blankie finder.
This is scheming up new meals that my toddler will actually eat.
And failing miserably.
This is pushing kiddos on swings.
And squeezing my butt down a slide with a babe.
This is dragging myself to CrossFit at noon.
But feeling so glad I went afterwards.
This is teaching words, shapes, and counting.
And kindness, determination, and independence.
This is my toddler helping himself to a full cup of water.
Ugh, who taught him to be so damn independent?
This is being so grateful for my hardworking husband.
The sacrifices he makes—I will always be indebted to him.
This is reading hundreds of books about dump trucks, bunnies, and babies.
And then reading them all over again a million times more.
This is playing chase and peek-a-boo and dance parties.
Endless crafts, play-doh creations, and picture making.
This is a million boo-boo’s and bandaids.
This is exerting tremendous amounts of patience,
especially when the babe is crawling up the basement steps,
at the speed of paint drying.
And I’m only carrying 9 bags of groceries.
This is goodnight kisses, bedtime books, and Twinkle Twinkle songs.
This is tucking the toddler back in 15 times.
This is diving into bed at 8pm, the minute he’s finally asleep.
This is 8 loads of laundry waiting to be folded for the past week.
And letting it sit for another week.
This is checking the monitors seven more times before we go to sleep.
Not because they’re awake, but because we miss them.
This is being so grateful for this life. For these kiddos. And for my husband.
This is ride together, die together.
This is me saying “thank you” which is never said enough.
This is thirty two.