Parenting
I find myself reflecting on the mother I imagined I would become. Just yesterday, as my child lay on the floor in distress due to my refusal to let him play with the toilet water (again), I was struck by that realization. Tears streamed down his cheeks; my decision felt like a deep betrayal.
And there I was, sitting cross-legged on the closed toilet lid, unable to hold back my laughter. Honestly, what else could I do at 5:30 AM, pre-coffee, when the first crisis of the day revolved around toilet water? As my little one wailed in anguish, I stood to fetch a towel to clean his hands.
At that moment, something in the mirror caught my attention. Who is that?
In the reflection was the image of a woman I used to aspire to be. Her perfect braid hung elegantly over one shoulder, her cheeks had a natural flush, and her eyebrows were impeccably groomed. She wore a pressed shirt that hugged her slim frame.
As she wagged a finger at me, I felt a chill. Oh no! It’s… The Mother I Thought I Would Be!
I had encountered her before, most recently at the drive-thru of a fast-food restaurant while ordering fries to keep my child entertained during a long journey. Adjusting the rearview mirror, I saw her there, disapproving and judgmental. “You should have ordered the apple slices,” she said, her tone dripping with condescension.
Frozen in place, I blinked and rubbed my eyes. “Ma’am… your fries,” the cheerful cashier said, concern etched on her face as she handed me the bag. I drove a short distance and promptly discarded it like a madwoman. Because, let’s face it, I feel haunted.
Haunted by the ghosts of maternal inadequacy.
I cannot blame the Pinterest-perfect parents, nor can I hold my supportive mother accountable. Those polished moms at the local gym? They don’t bear the brunt of my frustrations either. My struggle stems from the nagging fear that I’m not measuring up to the ideal mother I envisioned. I worry that my child is missing out.
The Mother I Thought I Would Be would never find humor in a bathroom meltdown. She would have redirected the toilet water play to the sink, creating a fun and educational splash zone. She would have giggled through the chaos, embracing the mess as a teaching moment, and then moved on to whatever enriching activity was next on her meticulously planned schedule.
But I can’t keep up with her. She’s always busy with yoga, crafts, and family portraits. She embodies everything I aspire to be, yet, if I’m honest, I can’t stand her. We wouldn’t get along. Her rigid routines and sanctimonious advice don’t resonate with me, and I’m not even sure where my iron is. I hastily toss my partner’s dress shirts into the dryer—shh, don’t tell!
The Mother I Thought I Would Be is flawless, and I feel like I’ll never fill her shoes.
Yet, as I watch my little one roll on the floor, expressing his frustration in his uniquely dramatic fashion, I realize that he isn’t the child I envisioned either.
So, I scoop him up, wipe away the remnants of toilet water, and gaze into his vibrant green eyes, sharing a giggle. Yes, we both have our quirks, our imperfections—but together, we fit just right.
This journey of motherhood is unpredictable, but it’s ours to navigate. For those exploring their family dynamics and looking for resources, check out this excellent blog for invaluable information on pregnancy and home insemination. And if you’re interested in at-home insemination kits, Make a Mom has some great options. You can also explore this other blog post for more insights.
In summary, the mother I imagined is often at odds with the reality of my parenting journey, but that’s okay. It’s all part of the experience, and together, we’re crafting our own story.
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