My husband called the other day on his way home from work. Nothing out of the ordinary going on in his life, he just wanted to know if I needed anything for lunch while he was out.
I was in the middle of wiping up dog vomit and trying to make sure the baby didn’t flip her tray, spilling her lunch on the floor. Oh, and trying to ignore a smell coming from her backside that could only mean one thing, and keeping tabs on my work email.
Nothing out of the ordinary going on in my life either.
Our lives as parents are nothing short of enchanting. We spend hours bouncing, shushing and rocking our wee ones, willing them to sleep.
We forego showers and date nights, and trade evenings sidled up to a bar for cozying up on the couch watching Netflix, listening for the monitor. We worry when they are sick, willing the illness to take us instead.
Bank accounts dwindle fast as toys, rubber boots and cute little headbands in the dollar section are purchased. We add another, and our attention is split even more.
But then every so often, in our weary state, we look around and breathe. It may not be much to look at from the outside, but it’s our life and it’s a wicked glamorous one at that.