I wish I could paste all the joys of motherhood on a big umbrella that we could sit under when it rained. Because there are certainly more joys than pain. It’s hard to describe how beautiful a sleeping child is and how seeing them that way moves you to your core (every time). There are no words for the moment your child catches your eye and you see God. The giggling, the tickling, the running. Laughing at their botched attempts to act like you. Mispronounced or misused words. Clothes on backwards. Fascination at the smallest bits of the world (Bug!), excitement at every passing vehicle (Bus!). Squishy bits, soft skin, new teeth, long lashes, pug noses, bright eyes, secret smiles, elbow dimples, fat ear lobes. A big giant umbrella to keep us dry from the pangs of sorrow.
The pain of mothering young children (and maybe older?) is what really stands out. What strikes me are the every day occurrences where I fail, I fall. The sorrow of mother sins too small to speak but too big to bear silently.
The only way to downplay the strife of mothering is to pour the honey that is humor all across its back and lick the stickiness off your fingers. Maybe it will coat the cracks and fill in the gaps and gook up their sweet little memories till all they can see is the love.