Right now she’s two, so it’s hard for me, dealing with the terrible-twos et all. Agreed it’s a nice stage too, when compared to mothers of teens (the eye rolling, the sulking and the talking back, to name a few) and I am sure I’ll look back at these years with rose tinted glasses.
But, right now, here’s where I am, and there are times when I wish she was grown up. The thing is that she’ll need me for a long long time, so those who say it gets better may not be so accurate. It gets different and the demands on the mother change, but they don’t go away. In fact some mothers tell me that these are the better years, that as time goes by they need more and more from you and it’s not like you can out up your feet and read in peace.
That does happen, but at sixty, and it’s a long time to sixty, a long long time and I am tired. If only men would pitch in more, it’d be sooooo much better. Wishful thinking I know, but one lives in hope..