Motherhood.

It’s different in different stages.

Nothing ever stays the same.  Ch-ch-ch-changes.

I’m tired.

Hell, I don’t know what to write.  When Sarah & Kit & I began discussing a progressive post, aka a post that started in one blog & continued in the others, I got tingles down to my toes about the possibilities & fun & prompt to stretch my writing wings.  Making me think!  Reach into my creative side!  Relationships & connections!  & now that the eve of such an event is upon me, I have no idea what to write regarding motherhood & infancy.  I feel absolutely inadequate to describe motherhood in this stage, to define it, mold it, & fit it into a post that is roughly 5 paragraphs long & will hold your attention longer than 3.5 seconds.

& as I write, I realize that it is the very description of mothering infancy – it’s too broad & complicated to smash down, too general to be specific, too specific to be general.  It’s a thankless, physical job – I mean, all mothering is thankless in most regards.  But at this stage, I never actually hear the words “thank you,” much less “I love you” or even a simple, yet gratifying, “Momma.”  I’m spit on, peed on, pooped on, vomited on.  In some instances, these acts would be degrading to humanity yet society upholds these rights of passage as noble parenthood.  I’ve never cried this much, laughed this hard, felt this discouraged, or beamed with such pride.

It’s a damn roller coaster, I tell you.

One moment, I’m blissfully beaming over JUST HOW SMART my kid is & how he’s pretty much a genius guaranteed of a Harvard degree by the time he’s twelve & the next moment I’m fretting over whether or not he can actually impale himself on that little knob pointing out from his toy.  One minute he’s screaming bloody murder into my ear until my skin feels on fire & the next, we’re curled up into a rocking chair, sweetly gazing at each other as if time, space, & the entire existence of mankind does not exist outside of ourselves.  & when I think I finally have this kid down pat, when I finally know what makes him tick & finally catch up with his own growth, he changes.  AGAIN.  & I’m left in the dust running to catch up while simultaneously beaming with pride over his accomplishments.

Up.  Down.  Up.  Down.  Vomit.

See?  Roller coaster.

But just when I think I can’t handle it anymore – just when I can’t handle anymore dirty diapers, spit food, or screaming, or I think the worry over vaccines or daycare or food allergies will cripple me – he does something that lights up my world.

Like taking his first steps Sunday morning between my husband & I, making me feel like Heaven opened itself up for just a moment.