Sometimes when I’m rocking my babies to sleep in the middle of the night or the dark early hours of morning, I’ve realized, I’m really rocking myself.

Motherhood has broken me open these past few years. The spirit of a new mother is still deep within me, but the layers of society, and social norms, and expectations, being a working mom, a homeschooling mom, the challenges, and feeling the weight of the mothers who still sit in judgement of a veteran mother, continues to hit me in the gut sometimes.

I’ve let myself go. I have allowed me to put me at the bottom of my list. I’ve gained weight, I sometimes eat candy for breakfast, and, well dinner, and the four books I promised myself I’d commit to, have been sitting, quite literally collecting dust in the basket on the side of my bed. Working out isn’t even a thought in my brain because I still haven’t slept through night in, ya know, going on 7 years now 😂

So I rock. That’s been my self help lately. My self care. My me time. My therapy. Yes my me time has been spent while the front of my body is focused on feeding my daughter, and my middle babe is wrapped around the other side of me. And I rock. I rock for my sanity, and probably for theirs. And to calm my nerves. I rock to soothe my soul, I rock to balance my brain, and to put myself to sleep, and I suppose it helps the babies a bit too, because before I know it, we are all at once, all asleep.

My oldest is feeling his oats you could say. Pushing limits and all the envelopes and sometimes I question where I’ve gone wrong, but then I redirect myself, while sitting in the bathtub with my other two babies, (ya know more self care, spa tubby time party of 3) and think about all I’ve done right. With all of them. Including the original gangsta of the kids, the almost 7 year old son of mine who is so much more sweet than bold, but damn his bold is POWERFUL, man.

Us moms can be so hard on ourselves. I’m Thankful for motherhood never allowing me a dull moment in the last 7 years. I’m also thankful for the things that have opened my eyes and pushed me on a completely different path, definitely the more challenging path, but a different path nonetheless.

Recently my husband and I binge watched Virgin River, and by binge I mean it took us 3 weeks to watch 2 seasons, so in Netflix language and standards. We’re old as fuck, and that’s nothing to be proud of, but for the first time in our relationship, I think we can say we netflixed and chilled. Anyway. That night the kids were in bed by 7, so we binged to the finish, and by the last episode, I realized it was almost 11 and I missed my kids. So bad to the point that I went upstairs and laid in bed with the boys, and played with their hair. I kissed Maverick’s little boy face, that has stronger bone structure and skin that stretches differently than Ace’s chunky cheeks and pointy little perfect chin. I held Mav’s skinny, strong hands, hard from working with tools, shooting BB guns, and playing tough outside. Then I picked up Ace’s little heavy fat hand, and kissed it. Still traces of my baby boy, though certainly my spiciest, roughest and wildest one. God. They’re so different, they fight like animals sometimes, but at night in bed they’re closer than ever, legs and arms touching and their little angel boy mouths open and breathing on eachother. It breaks my mama heart into a million overjoyed pieces. Motherhood is so beautiful.

Motherhood is so hard.

Then there’s Venice. Sweet, beautiful, dainty little baby Venice. Who, as I write this is standing on her ride on trying to unlock the front door because her beloved daddy will be walking through any moment. She reminds me of my mother with every face she makes. Her wild hair in the morning. Her teeth. Her sweet little voice and all the words she’s beginning to say. When she wakes up and immediately stretches into a hug as big as her. She’s everything I ever wanted in a child. A daughter, and a forever best friend.

Life is weird. Life is so weird right now am I right? We’ve been forced to look at ourselves under a magnifying glass. I continue to look inward during this very awkward time in the world. inward to myself and within my family of 5. We have so much to be grateful for. So much to praise. So much glory to give to God for helping us slow it all down, so we can appreciate what we have, and to be thankful for the simplicity, the beauty, and the gifts we have in life.

I’m the first one to say I don’t always practice what I preach. I’ve taken being a mother a wife and a person with a roof over my head, and food in my fridge, for granted. And I hate that. So this year, this month, this week, this day, this MOMENT, I’m practicing gratitude. And how to be thankful. How to find some time for me while being everything for everyone else. How to pour into my own heart and soul, because that’s up to me and me only. How to be who I am regardless of how people receive me, or interpret the things I do and say. I’ve finally realized I’m not for everyone, and everyone’s not for me. I’m trying to make the woman in my head someone I’d want to be best friends with. And I think I can do it as long as I’m honest to myself and to the people who love me without limits.