You ever notice how things that we love often come side-by-side with things that we hate? I was reminded of this today as my beautiful boy threw a massive tantrum while sitting in time out for another misdemeanor. Here are a few illustrations:
This girl. Her laugh. The way she mothers her baby brother (and all of her stuffed animals.) Watching her dance like nobody is watching. Reading books together on the couch. Having her home with me all day.
Growing out bangs. The way she abuses her most beloved polar bear (I gave him his 4th 'rhinoplasty' last night and a 'reverse liposuction.' The way she tortures her little brother. Being asked to read Diego Saves the Sea Turtles... again.
This boy. Those brown eyes. Cuddling on the couch and goodnight kisses. The way he adores his daddy. The beginning of the joke telling phase. His monotone, baritone singing voice. The amazing towers he builds out of blocks.
3 year old tantrums. Poop- anywhere but in the toilet. The way he antagonizes his big sister. His want for me to do things for him that he is completely capable of doing for himself. Did I mention the poop? I really, really can't overstate how much I hate the poop.
This baby. Baby giggles. Chubby little feet. Happy babbling noises. Kisses. Peek-a-boo.
Drool. Teething. Sleepless nights. This 'complaining' sort of crying sound he makes now.
But... here's the thing. My love of my 3 sweet babies cannot be laid out like pros/cons or love/hate. I ADORE my children. It's easier when they are behaving- or asleep- but even when they are being holy terrors I am still madly in love with them. I never knew what that would feel like. It fills me with gratitude. And I love being their mommy.