Years ago when I was a slender young thing in High School, I was fooled into thinking that Creative Writing would be an easy-to-sail-through class. Oh was I wrong…. Well anyways, we did this project, the infamous Fruit Project. I had heard of people talk about it before, but thought nothing of it, till I was assigned THE Fruit Project. In short, we were to take a few slices of a fruit of our choice, put in a container and leave it there. For the next 30 days we had to write a blog post (somewhere around 400+ words) describing the fruit. I chose cantaloupe, because watching a fruit I already detest while it decays can’t taint my views anymore than they already are. For obvious reasons I have blocked many of those memories, but I do remember one post going something like this:
EWWWWW. Gross. Gross. Gross. Slimy. Why is it so slimy? Has anything ever been this slimy? Gross. Gross. Gross. Gross. Gag. Gross. Why did I open the lid? (Oh yea because it’s day 24 and I’ve run out of ways to describe the image of this horrid orange slim and I needed a new outlook to use…. Why did I think smelling it would be a good idea… how do I get this smell out of the room. HOW DO I GET IT OUT OF MY CLOTHES???? Ugggh now I have to do laundry….) Gross. Gross. Gross. Gross. I never want to look at another cantaloupe again….
Moral of this story is, I really did not like the Fruit Project. However the lessons I learned will forever be ingrained in my head: how to describe something in more ways than one and how to paint a picture with my words. Maybe you didn't see the exact horrific puddle of orange slime that I was viewing, but you definitely knew what my reaction was to it.
Anyways, today I thought I would employ the skills I learned way back when.
Every morning is the same. I wake up just minutes (sometimes it’s seconds) before I hear the sounds of one or both of my daughters playing in the other room (I’m not a morning person, let me just stay in bed allllllll morning). I slip into my bathrobe, which I seem to live in most days, and quietly sneak out of the room in hopes to not wake up #OBoy (this works about half the time). I go in and change diapers. We head out and the girls run around, or cry at my feet for some unknown reason, while I make breakfast for everyone. I set #ClaraBelle up in her highchair, and #LivyLu in her chosen seat of the day (usually the deep and bouncy reading chair) with breakfast and turn on a cartoon. Around this time #OBoy wakes up. He gets a diaper change and then a bottle. After which comes the dreaded tummy time (not for me, for #OBoy) while I clean up breakfast and then head back to the bedrooms to collect outfits for all three kiddos, diapers, hair bows, socks, bibs, and basically everything they need for the day, then sit down on the floor in front of the TV (the final minutes of the morning cartoon is the perfect distraction for the kiddos while I get them dressed). I line everything out in front of me, then one by one call each child over (usually this is a wrestle with the girls, not so much #OBoy, he loves any chance he can get to strip down). They all get a diaper change, outfit change, lotioned down, and hair done up.
Today #ClaraBelle was first, because if she’s not first than a tantrum will incur; next #OBoy and the lastly #LivyLu. And then I change #ClaraBelle’s diaper again.
So here I am on the floor, ready to sit back and just admire my three children who for the next 5 minutes while their cartoon is wrapping up will look perfect, with clean faces, hair neatly combed and pulled back and unwrinkled laundry detergent smelling outfits.
But this is what really happened. Just as I am leaning back against the side of the couch and panning my gaze across my children, I notice the clenched chunky fists of #OBoy. My eyes quickly changed their course from panning across the room to panning down his body. I see the cocked eyebrow and the slightly tilted head, I watch his arms raise up over his head as his face turns a little red and those lips purse themselves tightly shut, but the bottom lip sticks out ever so slightly. His knees come up into his chest and his toes curl up. He is grunting, and I am bracing myself for what I know is going to come next.
He stops his grunting, but only for just a second, and then comes the loudest grunt and his right leg shoots out, stiff straight. And the sound that followed. It’s not one that can really be described, it’s one you have to witness in person, but its something of a deep splatter gurgley noise. And suddenly my adorably dressed handsome little man is now soaked way up to the middle of his back in a pudding like mixture with a smell that would curdle your stomach in an instant.
The first thought that pops into my head is, “I have three children, yet I am about to change my fifth diaper in less than ten minutes. Where does all this come from?”
Now what happened next and the sights that I saw are much too graphic for the internet, and I’ll save you all those details. But I can say this, I am sure glad the kid is cute and that my lasting image of the day is #OBoy sitting up for the first time on his own with an ear to ear smile and giggles of pride as he knows he's done something truly great, and not the poopy mess he made of himself and my carpet.
Motherhood often is viewed as this blissful experience full of Instagram worthy moments. Now let me add a precursor that motherhood is wonderful and my Instagram is overflowing with memories I never want to forget. However, motherhood is not always the beautiful experience I thought it would be. Kate Middleton once said, “It is right to talk about motherhood as a wonderful thing, but we also need to talk about it’s stresses and strains. It’s OK not to find it easy.”
I had a conversation the other day with a new mom. She said something along the lines that she loved her new life as a mother but that it was way harder than she ever imagined it would be; by golly, if that is not the reaction every new mom has.
So let me be raw and real with you for two seconds. Being a mother is truly the best thing that has happened to me, but watching my son cover himself in poop moments after I had just changed him, and then proceed to kick and squirm during his change which only further spread the disastrous mess, that’s not beautiful. That’s hard and very much unwanted. But at the end of the day it’s those unexpected curve balls that throw us off and make us want to go back to bed that allows us to love and appreciate the good times even more.
Today, #OBoy cried a lot, and I smelt things from him I didn't want to smell. But he sat up, and that expression of joy and satisfaction I saw on his face as I cheered him on with tears building up in my eyes is an image worth remembering for a lifetime. I sure do love that kid and the simple joys he gives me.
"The joy in motherhood comes in moments. There will be hard times and frustrating times. But amid the challenges there are shinning moments of joy and satisfaction."
-Elder M. Russel Ballard-
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