Dear Universe, God, Jesus, or any celestial being who might actually take a moment to hear my plea — unlike my little ones:
Here I am, on my knees, hoping for a little divine intervention as I navigate the wild adventure of motherhood. Yes, I’m also tackling the epic mess of sticky cereal that’s become one with the rug, but don’t confuse my multitasking for insincerity.
Today, grant me the strength I need, oh mighty one. Physical strength to haul my 4-year-old through the grocery store parking lot while she’s flailing her limbs and shrieking about needing that overpriced pony cookie or else she’ll never talk to me again. Also, grant me the emotional resilience to validate her feelings rather than unleash a stream of colorful language about her behavior.
During her epic meltdown, provide me with the muscle to gently restrain her surprisingly strong arms with love instead of frustration. And while she attempts to deliver a roundhouse kick to my face, give me the strength to resist the urge to retaliate.
I also require oceans of patience today — more than I need my morning coffee. Enough patience to savor the moments as I rock my baby to sleep, even if it means bouncing around like a caffeinated kangaroo while nursing him. Please help me stay on the gentle path of swaying him to dreamland instead of shaking him out of sheer exhaustion, even when I daydream about how a pillow might just soothe him to sleep.
We’re both so exhausted, oh great one. I’m begging you, when he finally drifts off on my sweaty, unwashed self, help me to cherish that moment instead of wishing he would just let me have a second to myself, because these days are fleeting.
I’m also seeking empathy today so I can fully comprehend the monumental crisis of my kids when they demand their sandwiches cut into triangles instead of rectangles, despite having just requested rectangles moments before. Remind me that I, too, often change my mind — though perhaps not with the same level of drama.
When one of them bolts away from me in a parking lot, let me chase after them in my flip-flops, grateful for their independence, even if my post-baby body jiggles with regret. And if I discover my son gnawing on wet toilet paper from the toilet, please help me control my gag reflex because I’ve hit my limit on cleaning up vomit — even if it’s my own. I just can’t.
When my daughter chooses to dress herself in sparkly tights paired with a tank top over a tiger T-shirt, topped off with a beanie and jellies, grant me the grace to celebrate her creativity instead of worrying she’ll turn into one of those brooding teenagers reciting poetry about her privileged upbringing.
Please give me the patience to answer all 602 of their questions today with kindness, rather than annoyance over their endless curiosity. Why cats are called cats, and the distinction between breasts and nipples are profound questions. Allow me to appreciate their brilliance even when it drives me to the edge.
Rather than comparing myself to the so-called perfect moms, please help my inner voice be gentle with me, even when my outer voice is shouting, “Pick up your damn toys or they’re going in the trash!” And as one child chews on my face with their teething gums and another pretends to be a rabid animal by licking my arm, I kindly request a glass of wine, because I really need it to ward off the dark thoughts.
Assist me in calming their loud, pterodactyl-like shrieks with laughter instead of threats, especially when they drop the word “penis” in a crowded restaurant. And when they scatter macaroni all over the table, remind me that their poor manners aren’t a reflection of my parenting — they clearly inherited that from their father.
Speaking of him, please fill my heart with love so that I can shower my husband with affection, even when he complains about being tired after sleeping through the night like a log. And if he ever wipes down the high chair for the second time, may my libido soar to new heights.
When I glance at my post-baby body, marked by dark circles and stretch marks, let me not resent my children for the toll it’s taken. Instead, help me appreciate that this body has brought forth the wonderful chaos of these little beings. Because one day, when I’m donning diapers again and spouting nonsense about jello, it will be these kids who care for me. And I truly don’t want to mess that up.
Amen.
In Summary
This humorous prayer reflects the everyday struggles and triumphs of motherhood, capturing the essence of patience, empathy, and love. It’s a heartfelt reminder of the beauty and chaos of raising children, all while maintaining a sense of humor about the challenges.