It's in the Job Description

It’s my job to know which stuffed animal ‘Custard’ is, and where he was last seen (behind the couch in the basement).

It’s my job to know how far away the sun is – using some random form of non-standard measurement (I wish I had paid more attention in 8th grade science class).

It’s my job to bite my tongue while I clean up pee on the bathroom floor – it was after-all a good attempt, we just need to work on his aim.

It’s my job to accept that I will never ever get a good night’s sleep. Again. Ever. When my kids do all sleep through the night I will always lay awake worrying about them. Worrying that they will wake up. Or that they won’t.

It’s my job to know how to explain for the one-millionth time at bedtime that there are no bad guys in our house, and they can’t get into our house. And if they actually DO manage to magically shrink themselves to the size of ants and get down the chimney and then re-grown-up to normal size (a plausible option to an imaginative 5-year-old) that I will protect them no matter what and never let anything bad happen to them. And to silently wish that I really could keep anything bad from ever happening to them.

It’s my job to know how to spell every word in the dictionary, and to spell them out loud upon request. one. letter. at. a. time.

It’s my job to explain on a 3-year-old level the difference between girls and boys and why the new baby is not a boy, then let it go when my attempt to teach him the proper names of the parts of the female anatomy ends up with him declaring to his sister that her ‘pee comes out of China.’

It’s my job to balance dishes, laundry, sleep, preparing of meals, wiping bums, paying bills, and nurturing minds all while suffering from short-term memory loss and sleep deprivation.

It’s my job to figure out what makes my infant cry until midnight every night even though I have tried everything to soothe her. And to hold her and soothe her knowing that nothing I do will make her feel better, but at least she knows I am there.

It’s my job to know the cure for hiccups, where to find Japan on a map, and how many more days until Christmas upon request.

It is my job to be a nurse, although I have no medical training. To be a referee even though I don't know the rules (and I REALLY could use instant replay to figure out who actually had that toy first!). To be a taxi driver, even though I still can't parallel park. To sing lullabies although I can't carry a tune to save my life.

It is my privilege to hear “Mom, you make the bestest lemonade ever!” even though it is only Crystal Light.

It is my privilege to hold my baby and watch her sweet little face, and occasionally catch a contented precious smile (I don't care that they say it's just gas, it melts my heart).

It is my privilege to be needed, wanted, and loved unconditionally. No matte­­r what. I am not always good at my job. I don’t always have the answers. Sometimes the sleep deprivation robs me of my patience. But they love me anyways. That’s in my job description too. And there is no bigger paycheck than to sit at the table coloring with my kids and hear a contented sigh and a sweet little voice say “Mom, I love you” just out of the blue. Yep, that’s part of my job too. And it makes it all worth it.