“Mom, moooommm, come hereeeee!” Elle yelled from the bathroom.

We were walking in the door from school. My arms full of book bags, water bottles, folders and face masks. “Just a minute,” I yell back.

I hurriedly put a few things away and walk back to the bathroom. She’s sitting on the potty, licking a lollipop.

“Mom, how big of a poop do you think this lollipop will make?”

“What? Um….”

There was no course in college that prepared me for motherhood. I’d like to reply, “That’s stupid, finish up and come out when you’re done.” But I get the feeling that she is expecting a “legitimate” response so, I pause.

“Well, probably not a very big poop. Maybe even more pee than poop.” I’m getting carried away here. No one fact check me. 

“Oh, yeah, you’re right” she says, “probably mostly pee and just a little bit of poop.”

“Um, yes, exactly.”
 
I turn toward the bedroom where my husband is sitting on the bed, in front of his computer.
 
“Did you hear that?” I ask.

He looks up, smiles, “No, what?”

I recount the conversation to him. He laughs and goes on with his work.
 
You see, 2 hours earlier we were sitting together, computers on our laps, starring at a 23 page contract for his new job. My eyes were glazing over. I was reading the same paragraph over and over. I couldn’t make sense of anything. I was trying hard to remain awake, offer useful comments, feign understanding.

 I wonder if I fooled him?

If you’ve ever read a contract, you know that the language is seemingly designed to make the smartest (i.e. me, wink wink) of people feel like dummies.

“All or any of the provisions of this contract are negotiable in that they may be retained in whole or in part, added to, or eliminated entirely from contract period to contract period.”

Um, come again?

But I no longer need a heavily worded document to highlight my scatter-brained state.

When I have a minute to wonder (and worry) why I cannot have complete thoughts, I am interrupted by poop questions, actual poop, football stats, actual football, you get the idea. It’s non-stop here. Atleast I don’t have long to contemplate my diminished capacity as it is both constantly highlighted and subsequently explained.

How can I talk about lollipops and poop AND liable and non discrimination?

I hear from moms of older children that one day I will be able to hold an adult conversation again. One day I might feel smart because I swear on my first born son that I was. I graduated college with honors for goodness sakes.

So I’m writing this as evidence, proof that my mind had officially left the building.

Where is my brain, you might wonder?

It’s deciding whether my 5th grader should go to the big middle school or stay at his small school. Who do I contact to learn about middle school? How many other parents can I call for opinions? Can he be in honors classes? And what about my 2nd. He hurt his ankle and needs an x-ray. I need to figure out when to do that tomorrow. And it’s my daughters birthday in 2 days. I need gifts, cake, friends, fun. And my littlest is sometimes so ornery – last week he smeared his applesauce all over the table at school. When the teacher explained that he was making more mess for the custodian to clean up, he threw his granola bar on the ground and stomped on it. What am I going to do about that one? Taxes are due next week. We need to re-fi asap for 50 different, very good reasons. Mostly to add-on because our house is shrinking and bedtime is a nightmare. And my husbands job is new and old and in so much flux and I need to be a part of the decisions. When am I going to exercise this week and meal plan and see my girlfriends and read and write and be a human, too? Oh and, how much poop IS that lollipop going to make?

All of this and I am NOT special. You hear me, mama? I’m not complaining, just explaining why my eyes glaze over when we meet at the park. I’d trade every single one of my brain cells for these babies and it does actually seem that that might be the deal.

I read a quote recently that said, “The first 40 years of parenting are always the hardest.”

Sometimes I imagine the creator speaking to me. The creator of all things – of me, of my babies, of the solar systems and stars. The creator has a potty mouth and is good at pep talks “Listen up and listen good. You are doing the most important shit that you will ever do in your life. I’m going to make you a flaming imbecile at all things except those that are most important. You’re going to be able wash more clothes in a weekend than a laundry mat in Times Square. Little hands will be touching your body 24 hours a day. You won’t visit the bathroom alone for YEARS. Nope, not even to do #2. You will never sit down without a tiny human in your lap. And no, you don’t get the day off. Not even when you have the the stomach bug and your husband has lost his job and your grandmother is dying and your dog has cancer. You’re going to have more compassion, tenderness, energy and love than any being on the planet. I’m going to show you how deep your well truly is but it ain’t always gonna be purdy. Parenting is going to mold you into the best version of you, better than you could have ever imagined but you might as well throw all of your plans and preconceived notions out of the window. Mama, you are a superhuman but I don’t want you to get an ego SO, you are not going to be able to have adult conversations or do math. Listen, I do my best but you humans can’t be everything. So you’re welcome and I’m sorry. Now go wipe some booties and throw a pizza in the oven. I got you, mama.”

That’s you too my friends. You might not feel like it BUT YOU ARE KILLING IT.

Also get professional help, be real with your girlfriends, cry and for goodness sakes, take care of yourself.