Hugs & Kisses

blog-post-1It has been so long since I blogged and that’s because I have three kids who feel l should consider myself fortunate to breathe. And for the record, I do.
I’ve possibly mentioned before how I’m not the most affectionate person. If you’re not my immediate family, don’t try to hug me because that’s just weird and I feel like I’m mashing my boobs on you, making it even more awkward for everyone involved in said hug. A stern hand shake will do and bye, now.
You learn a lot about yourself when you enter a serious relationship. Waylon is over-the-top affectionate and I love it. I really do. But it definitely magnified how unnatural it was for me to initiate a hug or hand holding after we started dating…moreso after we had kids. I’ll get to that later. Showing affection is one of those things I’ve had to make a conscious (or is it conscience? I seriously never know) effort to work on throughout our marriage. He’s learning how to load a dishwasher properly; I’m learning how to smack him on the butt and give him a wink while he does it. It’s give and take, people, and I’m happy to do my part.
Kids change everything. And I mean everything. It actually irritated me to have so many couples tell me this tid bit pre-baby. We tried for a year to get pregnant with Bella and the last thing I wanted to hear was “enjoy your time together now because that’s all going to change!” You guys were annoying, but you were right. We do get to spend a decent amount of time together, all kids considered. Between grandparents and babysitters, we’re fortunate but let me just be real for a minute. Like really real.
From approximately 7 a.m. until the last eye closes at 8:30ish p.m., it’s kids and it’s a lot of em. It’s kids when I’m talking on the phone, taking a shower, pooping, eating my supper, handing out plates of food and snacks, changing diapers, walking to the mailbox, getting my clothes on, changing in to pajamas, cooking supper, bathing the siblings, sitting on the couch, sitting on the chair, standing and staring blankly into space, paying the bills, taking out the trash, okay I think you get the point.
So now let me clarify. It isn’t that the kids just want to see me or want to be near me or in the same room. No. They want to be on me. Around my neck. On my lap. Tangled in my legs. Pulling on my shirt. Climbing on my shoulders. Touching me, always. CLEARLY they get their affectionate side from their Daddy. Side note for those of you reading this who are so far past having little ones that you’re in disblief of me not wanting to cuddle kids 26 hours a day/9 days a week. Or those of you who haven’t reached that point in life where you feel as if one finger touches your shoulder you’ll snap…I love my kids. Y’all I hug em. I love on them and kiss them and tickle them and SnapChat while we poop together.
But sometime around 4:45 in the afternoon my Touching Radar has hit it’s limit. Coincidentally, this is the same time all children become the neediest. Everyone needs hugs and milk and supper that they’ll refuse to eat and a different tv show and a new book and they’re crying because they’re tired but bedtime is hours away and they want a different color cup and the toy her sister has and I usually end up locked in my bedroom for ten minutes so I can walk out and give hugs without looking like Michael Myers.
It takes a lot of digging deep. A struggle to move from the chair to the couch next to my husband once the kids are in bed. I don’t always do it and he understands. While sometimes I crave being close to him, sometimes I need my time. I need time to sit and not be touched by anyone. He gets me and he see what I go through. The amount of never ending giving that comes with motherhood is like nothing else I’ve ever experience. They won’t be little forever. I know this and it’s bittersweet. Our days are filled with a lot of laughter but I’d be lying if I said they’re not also filled with a lot of tears. Tears from a one year old who needs to be rocked. Tears from a two year old who wants the purple cup and not the red one. Tears from a four year old whose hair just got ripped out by the two year old. And some days tears from a mom who isn’t sure I have the sanity to endure it all. The patience, the even temper, the ability to give enough affection to three little people and a husband who need it and the fear that they share me so much no one is getting all of me that they need. Little time is spent taking care of myself. That goes with the territory of small children and I know it’s just a season in my life. A season that I will undoubtedly look back on in 20 years with a feeling of accomplishment and pride.
I’ll hug my kids and I’ll hug my husband. They’ll force feed me M&Ms and wine and I’ll survive choosing to have three babies within four years, I just know it.

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