This morning I enjoyed breakfast with one of my sisters in Lafayette, our standard halfway point between our homes. As we chatted away over cups of coffee, I caught sight of something strange out of the corner of my eye. What WAS that on my shoulder? As my finger reached to remove what I was sure would be a piece of a lint, I suddenly realized…it was a booger.
Simultaneous with disgust, I was filled with a strange sense of pride. Moms always complain about snot-nosed kids wiping their faces on them. Now don’t get me wrong, this isn’t something I actually aspired to experience. But part of me felt like I earned my StepMolly title again today. (Note: this is undoubtedly the last time I will be proud to have a booger on my shoulder.)
On my drive back to Indy, I reflected on the first time I really felt like I earned some street cred as a “new” parent. Not more than 6 weeks after we were married, 5 year old Yoseph came down with the stomach flu. The kids were with us and I had the most flexible work schedule that day, so I stayed home with him.
The poor, sick child puked so many times. So. Many. Times.
All. Over. Me.
Small basin available, blankets available, wooden floor available. Instead, he leaned into me and emptied his stomach. But you know what? I wasn’t even disgusted. I just patted his back, murmured soothing words and encouraged him to finish. My heart just ached for this sick little boy with the dull eyes and listless demeanor. I got to work cleaning him up, changing the sheets on the couch, and changing my clothes.
Only later did Tim and I exchange small smiles as he observed that I was now initiated into parenthood.