People always complain about how hard motherhood is. And by people I mostly mean me. But there is a short grace period. Somewhere down the line when you stop being a bugger carrier and before you become an ignorant source of all evil, that sweetspot where you can do no wrong.
If I had a wish it would be to be able to see myself through the eyes of my 6 and 7 year olds. So you get an idea, just the other day they had a massive fight over who sang better, me or Katy Perry. Not sure who won. My smile was so wide my cheeks actually covered my ears.
When I sing they listen in awe. When they ask me to draw something they are always impressed
- “how do you draw so well?” (PS, I don’t, really)
I know everything. I know what words mean. I know what religion is. I know important things like how the actor from home alone is not really called Kevin. That what happens in that story is fiction not history (I even know what fiction is), and who Justin Bieber’s real-life girlfriend is (like, for real life).
The other day I tried to pull off a self-description of “tall and skinny” to the reply of:
- “you are not skinny mom, you are the cuddliest”
they can even make “chubby” sound like the best compliment ever.
So I’ve come to terms with the fact that this, now, is as close as I’m ever going to get to feeling like a rock star. A gorgeous, wondrous, near-genius that can do no wrong. And I plan to enjoy every second of it. I am even considering recording bits so that I can throw it back at them during the dark ages, otherwise known as adolescence.