Man. Dropping all four boys off alone is a marathon. Those mornings are not the easy, instagram worthy mornings. Those are the ‘where did you forget your water bottle’ or tripping over a shoelace kind of morning.

Some mornings I truly wish I could wear Google or Meta glasses just to record it. As a sort of proof for the inevitable question later in the day, “How was your morning?” The chaos makes me forget about it later, but man oh man, was it a morning.

After the morning rush of my husband making breakfast, having the kids quickly eat it and go potty before making it out the door to the garage, I usually exclaim, ‘Wait, do I smell poop?’ AHHH, there is a poopy diaper! Back inside to change it while one of us wrangles the other three to get their shoes and jackets on. Emotions are running hotter than the heater (or let’s be real, it’s California, so the AC) blasting inside the house.

We pull out of the driveway as my husband smiles in the garage waving, happy he gets a few minutes of peace to drink his hot coffee before starting his morning meeting. Enjoy your coffee, sir, enjoy.

First, off to daycare for the younger two. For some reason, when mom does the drop off, there are tears and extra hugs. “I love you so much, mama”. Interesting, weren’t you just screaming at me in the garage to leave you alone because I asked you to put your jacket on?

I leave the daycare and immediately look back at the door. Did I just drop off two… or one? No, definitely two.

Next stop: elementary school. I pull up, already sweating, scanning the street for parking as if it’s a game of musical chairs. I’m fuming silently because the older two refuse the drop-off lane. Oh. Em. Gee. Wait! Success, one spot left at the end of the street. Victory!

Alright, kids, unbuckle, backpacks out, and close the doors. I am patiently waiting, trying to look calm as other parents pass by cheerfully and walking at a reasonable pace unhurried. I look at the boys, muttering “Hurry up guys, I’m getting late” as kindly as I possibly can. The other kids walking by follow their parents quietly while mine start to swerve onto other peoples lawns like puppies. Whelp, no crosswalk today, since we are coming from the opposite side. Guess today isn’t a rainbow day for the lovely crosswalk lady.

We open the gate to the school. “Okay Mama, you can go,” V says confidently.

I stop and take a breath. “No, it’s okay. I’ll walk you to your class.” I want that hug because I know one day they won’t ask for it.

I rush back to the car. I look over at the front seat. Oh no, A forgot his water bottle! I make a quick U-turn and get back to daycare. I rush inside, breathless and sweaty, and hand it to the kind teacher at the front to avoid him seeing me and crying again.

Wait, did I drop off two in each place…or just one?

And it is only 7:55 am, everyone. This is the marathon, the love-filled, chaotic, exhausting mad rush in the morning. The one that is full of irritation and gentle hugs at the same time. The one where you are getting late and are overstimulated, yet you are still turning around for one more hug. And this is all totally normal and valid. You are allowed to have the moments of frustration and love all wrapped into the same 60 seconds.

Sometimes while I just sit in the car after all of this, I think about how different it all would have felt just last year. Back when I was still in the fourth trimester, I don’t think I would have even smiled or paused for a hug during this whole commotion. Everything used to feel so heavy then. My body was still healing and sleep deprivation was so disorienting. Pregnancy brain has nothing on I have a newborn, am never sleeping, and still need to keep the house running brain. That brain fog is so thick that is blurs patience, steals moments for perspective, and makes small things feel so impossible. I was surviving at that time and not noticing. But now, I notice.

I notice the brain fog lifting in even just subtle ways. I notice I can hold a thought without losing it mid-sentence. I notice that even in chaos, the littlest cute smile makes me pause for gratitude and a laugh. Those tiny moments land differently now. The chaos hasn’t changed much. The schedule is still tight. Someone is still missing a shoe. Someone is still refusing the drop-off lane. But my nervous system feels softer, my reactions are slower, and my awareness is wider. It is still hard, believe me, I just feel like I allow myself to feel both spectrums of emotions together and give myself grace for it. I will write about a recent trip we took to Mexico, on how sure it was fun to get away from cooking and cleaning, watching the kids enjoy playing in the water, yet it was a trip, not a vacation, since at these ages for the kids, it’s parenting in a different location without the comfort of having their playroom to run wild. I allow myself the ability to share the frustrations with everyone around me in order to commiserate how we all are in the thick of it, while still remembering gratitude and how funny some of these wild moments will be later on.

So, friends, if you’re in it deep right now or about to be in the thick of it, that postpartum healing, the bone deep tired, the days that feel endless and blurry, please remember this: there is a way over that hump. It doesn’t happen overnight, in fact it happened almost 2 years later for me. The thick of it is in the first six months when the sleep deprivation is real. That light finally appears in tiny pauses, in unexpected smiles, and in random mornings when you realize you aren’t just surviving anymore, you are thriving. There isn’t a medal or finish line for this race. There are just tiny pauses inside this marathon. You got this. 🫶🏽