Content?

Yesterday I got a Facebook message from a high school friend who I've only spoken to sporadically in the past ten years (which reminds me...I really need to be better about keeping in touch with old friends.  Like, seriously).  She asked me how I liked having kids and mentioned that when she told someone she wanted children someday, that person basically told her that she would regret it and to just take care of her husband and dog.  So she wanted my take on things.  And then she said something that I've been thinking about ever since:  "You seem pretty happy and content, so I wanted to hear what it was like from a different perspective".

You seem pretty happy and content.

I can't get those words out of my head.  Is that how I seem to people?  Or just to people I don't see in everyday life?  Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled that that is the image I give off, and it made my day to read those words.  But I guess I've always just thought that when people read what I post on Facebook they got a different picture of my life. Kind of like..."frazzled, crazy children, doesn't know what the hell she's doing".  That kind of picture.  But contentment?  That's something I didn't realize I exuded publicly.  And it makes me happy to know that at least one person sees that.

When I first started this blog, it was all unicorns and rainbows and I'm-so-in-love-with-my-baby-and-can't-believe-how-wonderful-everything-is. And, at the time, that's totally how it was.  But there were also those times where everything just seemed to go wrong and I couldn't get my shit together and Bailey had screaming melt-down tantrums and I wanted to just leave her in a basket on the front porch and hope that someone...anyone... took her.  And I don't even have a front porch.  But I didn't write about all those times because this blog was about my baby and I didn't want anyone to see that my baby wasn't always perfect or that *I* wasn't always perfect.

If you've been following this blog from the beginning, you'll see that things are a bit different these days.  I'm "keepin' it real" and writing honestly.  I'm not sugarcoating things these days (although, you can bet your bottom dollar that when one of my kids does something cute or brag-worthy, I'm totally going to write all about it and gush and be all "mom-like" and proud), and I'm not "hiding" the crazy, not-so-perfect parts of our life.  It's all out there, guys, because these are the kinds of things I wanted and needed to read back before I had kids.  These are the kinds of things I want and need to read now.  I don't want to read about how damn perfect someone's life is or how wonderful someone else's kids are.  I don't want to see pictures of a toddler's room that is so pristine and perfect it doesn't even look like the kid lives in it or pictures of the made-from-scratch cookies one mom baked with her kid.  And I definitely don't want to see pictures with the caption "Johnny was a little devil today.  He absolutely destroyed the house!" and there's just the faintest little handprint on the window in an otherwise picture-perfect, spotless home.

Those are the people who I've always considered happy and content.  I've even gone so far as to bitch to my good friend about how perfect the life of one of the girls we went to high school with is, and what a beautiful house she has and how adorable and well-behaved and perfect her kids seem all the time...based on her Facebook photos and statuses. I don't talk to this woman on a regular basis, but maybe if I did she'd tell me that her life isn't all that perfect and that sometimes her kids are little shits and she'd like to lock them in a closet or something (but I bet she'd never use the term "little shits" because she's not one to curse and I, on the other hand, have a mouth like a sailor).  Who wants to post a status on Facebook about what a horrible day their kid is having?  Or post a picture of their kitchen counter that is now covered in permanent marker because they left their 2-year-old alone long enough to sneak to the bathroom in peace for the first time in 2 years and said toddler got into the junk drawer and found all the Sharpies?  (By the way, if any of you know how to remove permanent marker from a countertop, I'd really appreciate you sharing your wisdom with me).

My point is...no one's life is as perfect as it may seem online.  Especially mine.  Hell, I started writing this post six hours ago.  Six hours.  And I'm only now just sitting down to finish it.  In the middle of my third paragraph, Bailey threw the most epic tantrum I've ever seen over God-only-knows-what.  When talking calmly/distracting/ignoring her didn't work I ended up sending her to her room and locking the door so I could regain my sanity.  She spent a half hour screaming "mommy" at the top of her lungs and banging on her bedroom door.  When I went up to talk to her (calmly and rationally and ending with a smile and an "I love you", 'cause that's how I roll) I found her wearing a set of rosary beads as a necklace.  I have no clue where she found them, but I let her keep them because I figured after the way she just behaved the little demon needed God in her life.  And then after that the baby pooped all over himself, the kitchen was still a disaster from lunch, Bailey had another tantrum, the baby threw up all over himself, Bailey had another tantrum, and the baby decided to join in all the tantruming because I wasn't feeding him fast enough...and so I'm just now getting back to this post.  Six hours later.  My life is far from perfect.  But it is pretty damn good.  Tantrums and screaming and all.  And just when I think I can't handle another...damn...screaming fit, Bailey does something so incredibly sweet or so hilariously funny that I completely forget about how angry I was earlier.  And THAT is when I post on Facebook.

For the record, I am content.  Very content.  Most days, I feel like I've got this mom thing down and like I really do know what I'm doing.  On those days, I've had a shower and my hair looks halfway presentable, both kids are bathed, fed, happy and well-mannered, my house is (semi)clean and dinner is on the table. And also, I've gotten both children to bed with no tears and no arguing over "just one more show".  But then there's a day or two (or four) where, at the end of the day, the ONLY thing I've successfully accomplished was to keep my kids alive. And that's okay.  Because even if nothing else gets accomplished and we've had 14,000 things go wrong, these two still make my day a million times better than it would have been otherwise.

Content?  Absolutely!