As the World Turns

My children are the sweetest boys ever. They are smart, kind and funny. They play together, fight also, but will say sorry and start all over again. They invade my space and leave me no privacy, but when they’re not around, I kind of feel this is not right and cannot enjoy my alone-time. I hate it when they interrupt my conversations with an adult but I shine with pride when their comments make the other adult smile. They bug me for hours about spending yet more money on some superhero accessory but I forget all about my credit when they shower me with kisses because “I’m the best mom ever”. This is parenthood and I get it. What I don’t get is this: I know me, I’m miserable most days, I like to be left alone and I don’t like talking. So how did I end up with two chatty, happy-going, belly-laughing kids? They have some kind of magic wand that makes everything ok, where did they get the magic from? Other kids are mean to them, and I go mad, but they don’t care…where did the wisdom from? If I did not vividly recall the painful birth-giving hours, I would swear they’re not mine. But they are, and maybe that’s the parenting secret: our children are us a thousand time improved, and they’re giving us an opportunity to find ourselves again.