Wrestling Mom: Life in the Toddler Ring

If someone had told me that motherhood meant becoming a full-time wrestler, I probably would have laughed. But now, with a 3-year-old and a 4-year-old running the house, I’m practically a living, breathing action figure. And to make matters worse—or more hilarious—their dad is a professional wrestler. Let’s just say the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Forget yoga or Pilates—my daily workout is surviving the “Toddler Wrestling Federation” in my own living room.

The First Match

It all started innocently enough. One evening, I was lying on the bed after a long day, hoping for a few minutes of peace. Out of nowhere, my 4-year-old launched himself at me like a miniature wrestler flying off the ropes. “Mommy, let’s wrestle!” he declared, his face full of determination.

Before I could even respond, his 3-year-old brother joined the chaos. I suddenly found myself in what I can only describe as a family tag team match, complete with giggles, tiny elbows, and their dad coaching from the sidelines like it was WrestleMania.

The Tag Team Specialists

Now, wrestling has become a daily ritual. My boys have their own special moves:

• The Flying Toddler: The 4-year-old climbs the bed for a dramatic leap, yelling “Spider-Man!” before landing squarely on my stomach.

• The Sneak Attack: The 3-year-old ambushes me, wrapping his tiny arms around my knees until I “tap out.”

• The Tickle Takedown: When all else fails, they team up to tickle me until I’m laughing so hard I can’t defend myself.

Pro Tip: Never underestimate a toddler’s commitment to their craft. They may be small, but their enthusiasm (and stamina) are unmatched.

Training Mom

I’ve tried to fight back—gently, of course—but these kids are relentless. They’ve turned couch cushions into their personal wrestling mats, and every time I sit on the floor, I hear the unmistakable battle cry: “Let’s get her!”

Their dad, ever the professional, has started giving them pointers. “No, no, use your legs to pin her down,” he’ll say, like he’s teaching them life skills. Thanks, honey.

I’ve even started learning their lingo. Did you know there’s a move called the “banana split”? Neither did I, until my 4-year-old announced it mid-match while trying to yank my legs apart.

When Wrestling Goes Rogue

Not all matches go smoothly. Sometimes, they forget that Mommy isn’t indestructible. One particularly chaotic afternoon, I found myself explaining why knees don’t belong on faces and why “no headbutting” is a universal rule.

But even in the chaos, there’s so much love. They aren’t just wrestling—they’re connecting with me in their own silly, energetic way, emulating the bond they see between their dad and his wrestling buddies.