So...Wimbledon here I come

Being a mom is kind of like learning how to play tennis.
Or at least I think it is.

That first kid is like you on the court for the first time.
Brand new racquet.
Decked out head to toe in all the tennis gear you need - sweat band, wrist bands, and all.
Maybe even knee pads.
Just you and your instructor. One tennis ball at a time.
Your instructor hits you the ball. You take a swing.
Maybe you hit it.
Maybe you don’t.
Maybe it hits you.
But that doesn’t really matter. It’s all about learning and getting used to how that racquet feels in your hand.
Eventually you get the hang of it. You can hit it straight back to your instructor with ease. Maybe you even put a little spin on it.
You are gaining confidence.
Right when you start feeling comfortable, your instructor starts hitting it harder.
Starts hitting it to the left and the right. Making you run a little bit.
It’s a little harder and you might even start breaking a sweat.
But you got it.
You can handle it.
You can even do more.

You have another kid.

Now two balls are being hit at you.
It’s little difficult at first, but again, you get the hang of it.
Eventually.
It’s hard.
Sometimes it even feels impossible when the two balls are being hit to you in two different directions.
Maybe you hit one.
Maybe you hit both.
Maybe you miss.
But again, it’s all about learning and getting used to it.
One tennis ball at a time.
You can’t give up.
You don't want to give up.

Now I have three kids.
You’d think three kids = three tennis balls.
Wrong.

Somedays I feel like the instructor has left me alone with that automatic ball dispensor thing, full blast, shooting a million balls at me a minute.
“Mom!” “Mom!” “Mom!” “MOM!!!”
I can’t quite react quickly enough.
They just keep coming at me.
It’s those moments that I feel like curling on the floor of the court in the fetal position, hiding under my racquet, and hoping that the balls don’t hit me right in the face.
Most days I don’t.
I stay on my feet.
Never stand still.
Keep running left, right, jumping to get the high ones, ducking from the ones coming straight at my face.
Just keep moving and get as many as I can.
And those days when I am on fire and get to everything hit my way - those days are the best.
I feel like I can do anything.
I feel like I can do everything.
Then somedays the instructor comes back and lightly hits me one ball at a time.
And that feels nice.

It’s all about learning, right?
One tennis ball at a time.

Being a mom is kind of like learning how to play tennis.
Or at least I think it is.
I’ve never actually learned to play tennis.
So I wouldn’t really know :)