Parenting hurts. Now, I’m not talking about emotional pain like the first day of kindergarten or the first C – on the report card. No, what I mean is that parenting is a full-contact sport. Granted, I am the mother of two boys which may contribute to the bruises I’m left with. However, I have found, in order to join in the fun, you have to expect to get messy and to get hurt.

It started early. Breast feeding was the single most painful experience of my life. What’s worse is that it got increasingly more painful when they began to grow little puppy-like teeth. It was the closest I have come to throwing my child across the room.

However, as they got older, the pain continued. My husband claims it’s my fault. Somehow he avoids injury by simply paying attention to where the ball is falling or where the light saber is aimed. For me, however, I invariably have to sit-out due to a poke in the eye, an elbow in the gut or kick in the shin. One thing I want to make clear, my kids never intend to hit me. In fact, they know how prone I am to injury and try hard not to inflict pain. However, somehow it happens and I have to hobble away without letting them see me cry.

Yes, parenting is painful on many levels. However, I will continue to endure a few bruises as long as they continue to see me as a worthy playmate. I hope I will survive.

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