My Chaotic Morning Reality Check
So yesterday I was knee-deep in it, y’all. Pure chaos mode. Picture this: scrambling eggs one-handed while fishing a rogue Hot Wheels car outta the toaster with the other, listening to the baby scream bloody murder because I dared wipe his nose, and the preschooler? Yeah, she decided fingerpainting… on the dog… with my lipstick… was peak art. Coffee? Cold. Brain? Fried. Dreams of sleeping past 5am? Long gone.
Honestly? I felt like I was failing hard. Just wanted to hide in the closet for five freakin’ minutes. You know the feeling. Total defeat vibes.
The “This Too Shall Pass” Whispers
Later that day, while scraping mac-n-cheese off the ceiling fan blades (don’t ask, toddler catapult), I remembered something my grandma always said. “You’re gonna miss this, honey. Even the messy bits.” I used to brush it off, thinking, “Miss this insanity? Lady, are you nuts?” But right then, covered in cheese sludge, it kinda hit me sideways.
Made me think. Like really think. Those people telling me, “You’ll miss this stage,” they weren’t just blowing sunshine. Maybe… maybe… they meant something deeper? So I decided to try something different today. An experiment.
Pausing The Panic Train
Today, when the circus started up again – baby wailing, preschooler demanding a purple unicorn sandwich cut exactly like a star – I forced myself to stop. Just stop. Took a big, shaky breath right there in the middle of the tornado. Instead of rushing to “fix” everything instantly, I tried this:
- Looked Around. Like, really looked. Saw the baby’s chubby cheeks puffing out during his cry-fit. Saw the sheer, ridiculous pride on my daughter’s face over that janky lipstick dog-painting.
- Sniffed the Mess. Sounds gross, I know. But that weird combo scent? Baby shampoo, Play-Doh, stale Cheerios, and something faintly milky? It’s the smell of right now. Their now.
- Felt the Weight. The actual, physical weight of the baby asleep on my shoulder later, drool soaking my shirt. Heavy, warm, totally trusting.
- Listened Past the Noise. Past the shrieks and demands, heard my daughter’s little giggle when she thought her sandwich star was funny. Heard the baby’s happy gurgle bubble up after the cry storm passed.
I didn’t solve problems faster. Didn’t magically clean the house. Didn’t get more sleep. I just existed right inside the crazy.
The Punch in the Gut Feels
And guess what happened? Standing there, covered in drool and sandwich crust, smelling like Play-Doh and desperation…? I got sucker-punched right in the feels. Hard.
A picture flashed in my head. My cousin’s teenage son, barely looking up from his phone when she walks in. Quiet house. Clean floors. Suddenly, my messy, sticky, loud house didn’t seem like failure anymore. It looked… full. Overflowing, bursting-at-the-seams full of these tiny humans being tiny humans.
That cold coffee? Felt like a badge. That lipstick on the dog? A freakin’ masterpiece. The constant wiping and fetching and shushing? It all just felt like… my chance. Right here, right now, this exhausting, beautiful, fleeting chance to hold them before they don’t need holding anymore.
They ain’t lying, mamas. You’re gonna miss this stage. Not every second of the chaos. But the messy, loud, overwhelming aliveness of it? The complete dependence tangled up with that fierce, exploding love? That’s the gold, right there. Buried deep under the laundry. Pause in the panic. Find the gold. Even if just for a breath.
