Dear Lord, help me through it.

The Milkman and I have 2 little milkmaids. They are 2 and 8, but think they are 12 and 18.
Kids aren't what you expect. You start out with this tiny human at the hospital and they let you take it home. Without an instruction manual, without supervision...are these people crazy? You don't know what you're doing. This tiny human is going to spend a lifetime depending on you for their every need. Well for that first little bit anyway. Holy crap! Who's idea was this?!?

Then you come home and you have the most perfect, smartest little angel of any little angel, ever. They ooohhh and aaaahhh perfectly and yeah, maybe that sweet little thing keeps you up at night, but that's ok because you just can't get enough. And then you hit about week 3 with no sleep, just a few showers, puke and poop, and crying. What was I thinking? How come nobody said, "Hey...I know you want one of these, but they are monsters and they will make you cry and beg for mercy like the devil himself."? 

Nobody really tells you that hard stuff. Except your own parents when you are about 17 and they say, "I can't wait until you have a teenager of your own and you blah blah blah." Who listens to that stuff anyway? I was 22 when Milkmaid #1 came. I was young and it was hard. I had and still have a lot of family and friend support. I'm certain that we never would have made it without them.

That first kid you have, it is going to be perfect. It will be well behaved and clean. None of that running around screaming and looking dirty stuff. This parenting thing isn't so bad. Made it through those teething months, and complete dependency, it will get easier now that this kid is getting independent. Ha! Then you hit age 2 aka terrible 2s and "I can do it by myself" all while bumping, bruising, breaking, bleeding everything, everywhere. Do Not Help this kid. They Do Not need it.

"But you're going to hurt yourself."
"I not. I ok"
Bam!
Smear!
"Uh-oh"
"Sweet Baby Jesus, Lord, please help me get through this!"

Praying. Lots of praying. Along with cleaning, wiping, washing, fixing, potty training, and band-aids. Did I mention praying? You should definitely pray. Pray for help, sanity, guidance, and this kid...pray for this kid and that it survives your stellar parenting skills.

Skipping ahead to kindergarten. Oh kindergarten. (Yes, I left out a few years of snot, strep, stomach virus, shots, and cute little toddler giggles and wiggles, but this is a blog...I gotta limit it somewhere) 

School...a mother's dreaded "my baby's growing up" time. (not me so much, but most normal moms)

School. They gotta go. Unless you are brave enough to do it at home. I applaud those moms. I am not one of them. Public school is sanity for me. But back to it...school. Where they learn. They learn ABCs, 1-2-3s, things you are afraid to explain, attitude, and comebacks you are too stunned to respond to, for fear you might smack that look right off their precious little face. The first day of kindergarten Milkmaid #1 comes home and says, "This guy at my school....his sister got in trouble this summer because she was sleeping with her boyfriend."
Say what?!? Momma developed a stutter she didn't have before.

You learn really quick to withhold that initial reaction. You can't have your kid going to school repeating what you wanted to say. That could be embarrassing.

There is another thing about school. They get their feelings hurt a lot. Someone didn't want to play with them, called them a name, or was mean. This part sucks. You want to bestow a wealth of wisdom upon them and hand them a neat little package of your own personal life lessons so they can learn without living it. It doesn't work that way. And the "this hurts me more than it hurts you" saying pops in your head.

Kids are really mean. They don't always do it on purpose but sometimes they do. Watching your kid learn life lessons is hard. Everyday I say, "This is the hardest job ever. Nobody said it would be like this." Parenting, real parenting is probably the hardest thing you will ever do.
 Parents are supposed to teach their kids. To allow them the hard life lessons that they have to learn to be functional adults. We want to shield them, to not allow them to hurt, but that only causes more pain for them later. Parents are called parents for a reason. We aren't meant to be our children's best friends. At 2 and 3 years old they call us their best friends, but they are still sheltered and they aren't ready to learn those school-aged lessons yet.

I haven't gotten past the 2nd grade with my girls or this blog, so I'll let parents with older kids pick up where I leave off, but I don't think it's going to get easier. I know it gets harder. We will make it. We will ask for help and beg God for guidance and mercy and the ability to give our kids what they need to survive. We may be frazzled and half dead but we will have grown kids that make us proud. I know because if my parents can take me and my brother and get us there then we can do it too.