Thought to Self

Something keeps running through my head. It just up and popped in there one day and now I'm trying to cling to it.

Because it's not the big stuff that I have a tendency to sweat. I'm a survivor of many big things, just like most I have practice at persevering through pain and carrying on.

But I've also had a lot of practice with the daily grind
and yet it still really gets to me so much of the time.
I mean, the thing about the daily grind is that it really won't ever end.
I'm selfish enough to dislike that.

stupid kitchen floor always dirty stupid where's the broom ugh
worry worry worry (
enter big thoughts)
why why why are the
Legos all over the floor again seriously?
It's 5 freaking 45 what in the world is this child doing UP
worry worry worry (
enter more big thoughts)
oh I get so sick of meals. Three a day? That's too many.
It's 3pm? Really? HOW is it NOT 9pm? HOW?
stop whining! stop fighting! stop whining!
worry worry worry (
even more big thoughts)

You know, stuff like that.

This is when I start to trudge and martyr and pout.
It's hard not to do that because motherhood and life, well, they're

Motherhood, if all of its parts could be summed up in one tiny definition,
a million little sacrifices all piled up to make one big one.
And as much as it hurts and exhausts so much of the time,
it's also beautiful because it's the very thing I needed most,
to work away at my protective shell, my internal focus and my
tendency to dislike
anything that messes with what I want when I want it.
It teaches me what we all need to know. The simple truth,
it's not all about me.

And so I say, as of late, when I start to stomp and sigh,
Heather, don't resent the sacrifice.
And then something softens in me somewhere under all that exhaustion
and frustration
because first of all, the details and repetitive sameness,
they aren't going anywhere, so I'm wasting my time to wish them away.

And as it turns out, for me anyway, sacrifice is a comforting word...
when I stop to see that it's making me more of who I want to be.

Heather writes at The Extraordinary Ordinary.

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