Discomfort

This morning, I was sitting on the floor of my living room in my yoga pants, while my baby lay on her tummy on the playmat in her romper and my big girl ran around the entire house in just her underwear.

(Underwear.  Yes.  A short lived experiment.  One that did not succeed but no I don't need any advice at this point in time thankyouverymuch.)

Everyone was healthy.  Everyone was fine.  I'm pretty sure that both my girls were even having fun.

But I?  Was bored. Bored and hyperalert and tired beyond belief, all at the same time.

Could I have folded the laundry?  Sure, probably.  Could I have read a book?  Maybe, if I didn't mind being interrupted constantly.  Could I have played peek-a-boo with the baby and answered the random questions the toddler spewed in my direction when she ran by?  Well, of course.  I did.  I did.

But really, today was not a day that felt a whole lot like winning.

But sometimes that's what it is to be a good mom.  To let your kids be kids and just to make sure that nothing bad happens.

I don't like that feeling of not doing anything.  Of not having a plan, of not being in control.  Sometimes I think there are only two reasons motherhood can be boring: either I'm not doing it right, or it's not something worth doing.

I'm wrong.

I don't like being wrong either.

Sometimes it's okay to be bored, and sometimes it's okay to do anything possible to keep yourself from being bored.  Sometimes it's important to stay in the moment and feel the discomfort and realize that feeling that discomfort doesn't mean anything is wrong or broken, just that this is the uncomfortable part.  And sometimes it's important to figure out what's making you uncomfortable and find a way to squash and prevent it.

Unfortunately, life taught me that before it taught me how to tell the difference.