Right in the Thick of It
Some mornings I look around the house and feel like I’m standing in the center of a tornado made of crayons, half-eaten granola bars, and someone’s tiny sock that somehow ended up on top of the ceiling fan. This is the middle part of motherhood—the place where you’re trying to keep everyone alive, keep yourself semi-sane, and maybe, just maybe, drink your coffee before it goes cold enough to grow algae.
The middle is funny, though. You can be wiping jelly off the dog one minute and then get hit with this wave of tenderness watching your kid concentrate so hard on a drawing that their tongue sticks out. I swear Wynonna does that little tongue thing every time she colors, and it gets me right in the heart. Meanwhile, Krysta has decided she’s a “performer” now and narrates her entire day like she’s doing a documentary. There’s no quiet moment, but there’s something soothing about the noise being theirs.
Trying to balance everything feels like I’m juggling grocery bags, laundry, my feelings, and someone’s half-finished homework. Wyatt will walk into the room, see me holding everything together with a bobby pin and a prayer, and just hand me a snack with this silent nod like, “You got this.” And I usually do. Even if I’m doing it in yesterday’s leggings and smelling faintly like sunscreen.
Self-care gets weird in this season. I’ve reached a point where a solo trip to the drugstore feels like a spa day. But sometimes you need something bigger, something that reminds you you’re more than the finder of lost shoes. One of the best things I did for myself recently was a boudoir photo shoot. I know—it sounds like something people whisper about—but honestly, it felt incredible. It reminded me that I still exist underneath all the mom layers, and not in a “look at me being perfect” way, but in a “this is me and I’m proud of her” way. Every mom deserves that little spark.
The middle part of motherhood is messy and sticky and loud, but it’s also warm in a way I never expected. There’s this sweetness tucked right inside the chaos, like the soft part of a grilled cheese. Some days I’m exhausted, but then one of the girls will say something hilarious or wrap their arms around me at just the right moment, and it hits me—this is the good stuff. It might not look peaceful, but it feels alive, and that’s enough to keep me going.