Navigating public spaces with my four children often feels like a scene from a chaotic comedy. Perhaps it’s the wild-eyed look I sport or the way my posture resembles that of a worn-out, frazzled cartoon character, but strangers frequently pause to remark, “Wow, you really have your hands full, don’t you?”
And honestly, my hands often are full—overflowing with snacks, drinks, an array of plastic toys, stray shoes, hair ties, and an ever-growing collection of miscellaneous debris that somehow ends up in my possession rather than the trash can designed for that very purpose.
How should I respond to this comment? Is it a genuine question? Is it meant to be humorous, or perhaps a subtle compliment—an acknowledgment of my apparent multitasking skills, which they assume must stem from my experience having multiple kids? The truth is, I don’t excel in multitasking.
In fact, I struggle with it all. That’s why I tend to avoid outings with all four of my children. By the end of the day, after working and attempting to keep my kids fed and somewhat clean, I often find myself collapsed on the floor, possibly with someone else’s mess on my shirt, trying to gather the energy to reach the nearest garbage bin to dispose of yet another item handed to me by a tiny human.
So yes, I guess you could say I have my hands full. But the reality is, we all do. Parenting is challenging, and I’m tired of downplaying that truth. It’s time to stop apologizing for admitting how tough it can be. Sure, there are far more serious hardships in the world—tragedies that can shatter even the strongest hearts. But this isn’t a contest about who has it harder. Acknowledging the difficulties of daily parenting doesn’t negate the reality of those greater struggles.
I’m living in the here and now with my four kids, managing my job, and trying to nurture my relationships and personal well-being. But guess what? I can’t do it all perfectly. I want to. I yearn for it so much that it sometimes pains me to recognize my limitations. As a firstborn perfectionist, I’ve always strived for order and excellence in every aspect of my life, but I can’t achieve that ideal.
This is the reality of being a working mother—or perhaps the essence of parenting itself. It’s about making space for what truly matters, even if that means clawing through chaos. It’s a life of multitasking, whether it’s catching up on emails during bathroom breaks or doing my makeup while balancing a phone call—occasionally leading to mishaps like dropping my phone in the toilet.
It’s also about promising my partner that we’ll have some quality time after the kids are asleep only to find myself waking up the next morning still in my work clothes, with creases etched into my face. It’s about having to decline invitations to events I’d love to attend, knowing that they might not come around again. It’s the constant worry that everyone is socializing without me, leaving a void that aches deeply.
So many things I want to do—like going on date nights or finishing that book I’ve been working on for ages—are always pushed aside. I can’t help but repeat “not yet” in my head. Not yet for a clean house, not yet for sleep through the night, and certainly not yet for that elusive moment of peace.
Yet, amid this whirlwind, there’s undeniable beauty. This chaotic life often moves so swiftly that I want to stop it in its tracks, just to appreciate the fleeting moments of joy. If given the chance to relive my journey, I would still choose these same children, even if they arrived covered in dirt and chaos.
If I could summon the Ghost of Motherhood Past to revisit those early days, I would grab my kids, mess and all, and rush home, leaving behind a trail of laughter and exasperation. Because, at the core of it all, we can embrace the love we have for our family while acknowledging the hardships of parenting. When the Ghost of Motherhood Future comes knocking, tempting us to fast-forward to a quieter life, I know we’d all respond with that familiar refrain: “Not yet.”