I offer this post with a Parental Advisory for its explicit truths, the first of which is this photo of me. Yes, that’s me. I’m on Day 2 of my daughter’s recovery from ankle surgery. The ankle she broke when her older brother/babysitter double-bounced her on the trampoline.

Note the dark circles and unwashed hair. I’m not even wearing clothes that match. I look as bad as I felt. Which is really bad.

My daughter? Oh, don’t worry. She’s doing great. Much better than usual, actually. Here’s a picture of her.

She’s been sleeping in my bed, watching movies, and drinking red slushies for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Life is great, as far as she is concerned, and she’d very much like to break her other ankle should the opportunity present itself.

And now for the inappropriate musings.

I think motherhood is a lot like climbing Everest, losing your feet to frostbite, and wondering, “That was an amazing experience, but would I do it all again?”

?

As I deliberate upon this question, I realize that it is possible to appreciate and regret something. To see beauty while noting its ugliness. To understand that something is good but also has a very dark side.

For example, let’s take Diet Coke.

I love Diet Coke. I’ve been known to drink so much Diet Coke that I shiver with cold. One of the reasons I have a Costco subscription is that I can buy Diet Coke in bulk.

I also know Diet Coke is probably going to give me cancer. Like some newfangled, mysterious cancer that doesn’t exist yet. But I am still able to enjoy my delicious, bubbly, acidic Diet Coke even though it may very well kill me.

Now I’m not equating motherhood to death by cancer. As any mother will tell you, motherhood may make you want to die, but it will not let you.

My point about Diet Coke is simply to reinforce what I said earlier.

It is possible to appreciate and regret something. To see beauty while noting its ugliness. To understand that something is good but also has a very dark side.

For me, that something is motherhood. Because it is hard. Like gut-wrenching, soul-killing hard. And no one is talking about it in any real way that matters.

I didn’t lose my temper until I had kids. I didn’t drink wine every night until I had kids. I didn’t think I was a horrible person until I had kids.

I’ve done stuff that never shows up in Parents Magazine or the Love and Logic book or the “How To Keep From Killing Your Child” website that unfortunately doesn’t exist. 

I’ve spent time fantasizing about very bad things. Like suggesting they swim the length of the pool without swimmies or play hopscotch in the street or hitchhike home from school.

My Top 3 Mothering Fears: 1) child drowning, 2) child getting hit by a car, 3) child being kidnapped. And yet I fantasize about them sometimes.

Would I climb Everest again? I’m not always sure. But I’m already up here on top of Everest with no feet, and I can’t really climb back down, so I wonder if it was worth it.

Especially in the grocery store checkout line when they spill their red slushy in my Kate Spade purse while reaching for 10 packages of Skittles. Especially when they fight at the dinner table after I’ve taken the time to actually home-cook a meal, which is a very special occasion that should be treated very specially. Especially when they say they hate me. Especially then.

There is a space that exists in the world of motherhood. A space that is just a little left of center, where we feel all the love our hearts could possibly hold, where we would not hesitate to lay down on railroad tracks for our children.

And yet, in that same space, there live emotions like anger, despair, and resentment because, let’s be honest, who really wants to be run over by a train?

If you can identify with anything I’ve written in this post, please know that you’re not alone. I see you. I see your dark circles underneath the make-up, your unwashed hair pulled up in a ponytail. I see the way you keep climbing, your feet freezing, with only your love to guide you.

And while I wish I could say it gets better, I’m still stuck on top of Everest, so I don’t really know. But I’ll meet you when you get here, and we can enjoy the view together.