Humans can tolerate a lot of things, Moms can tolerate even more.
For moms, tolerance holds a different meaning than the standard definition provided by dictionary.com which states that as a verb, the word means to allow the existence, presence, practice, or act of without prohibition or hindrance; permit.
A body can tolerate a certain level of pain. A mind can tolerate so many assaults before it finally caves. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending upon how you view it, a mom’s tolerance for pain (her own) and mental assaults (again her own) far exceeds the average human’s.
Where do I get this rationale you ask? Well let’s start.
My son is a little over a week shy of being a year old. Gasp! He’s soon to be entering the toddler stage and terrible twos! I guess we’ll find out just how strong my tolerance really is. Over the past year, I have endured a broken toe that continually has toys dropped on it, little feet stepping on it, and the occasional encounter with a piece of baby furniture. I have tolerated the pain. I have tolerated head butts, scratches, and the need to bite as he teethes. None of the above have been intentional and when they have, Davey was disciplined.
Another case in point…loud noises. Not a big fan, never have been, never will be. My son now likes to get my metal measuring cups out of the drawer and bang them on the floor. The noise at times feels like a metal hammer beating on my brain. The sound piercing the inner reaches of my brain that encourages my tolerance. He squeals loudly, beats toys together, and even forces loud barks out of the dog. Again, these are all part of his growth stage, none of which he intentionally does to drive his mother batty (at least I hope not).
I tolerate the interruptions in my writing, something that my husband dared not do (even now he doesn’t bother me as I’m writing). With my son, it’s a different story. Usually his interruptions are to bring me a book or a toy. In most cases, I end up losing my train of thought in regards to what I was writing, but I tolerate it. My undivided attention is more important to my son than anything I could possibly be writing.
I tolerate the disastrous house that looks like a tornado blew through it. I tolerate the diaper blow outs, the spit up, the messiness of his eating, and the over all demolition of anything important to me. I set boundaries with my son and I discipline him, but in the end I’ve learned a whole new level of tolerance where Davey is concerned.
Much like patience, I never thought this would be something I could acquire. Tolerance has never been a part of my vernacular, that’s partly my fault because I’ve never allowed it in. I don’t have a choice these days.
So, in closing today’s word of the day is: TOLERANCE. Remember it Mommies. You’ll practice it a lot throughout the years.