I compare motherhood to standing in front of a mirror, completely naked, and critiquing every inch of my body. And for me, that never goes well. I am my Own. Worst. Critic.
Don't fear. I will not be stripping naked for you literally. I am being strictly figurative here. I will not put that evil on you.
I feel like everyone around us functions pretty well as a family unit. While my kids and I are more like a walking comedy routine. We could have our own reality show entitled: "Diary of an Unfit Mother: the story of a woman who makes you feel better about your own parenting"
Am I the only one here??
Am I supposed to WORSHIP every moment of my time with my children? Is being a stay-at-home-mom supposed to feel like Heaven on earth? ( Because, listen, in my Heaven, I've got a nanny and a maid ).
Do I have to be-friend every other mother at the playground just because we all birthed children at some point? Is it horrible that I don't want to have a necklace made out of my childrens' baby teeth?
I mean, I haven't been able to complete a thought since 2005 (Can you still call it "baby brain" when your babies are 2 and 5 ??)
I'm not even sure I could define the word "patience" right now. I am much more familiar with the term "patients", because that's usually what my children tend to end up as.
Did I miss it when they passed out the maternal manual?? Did I not get the 'once-you-turn-into-a-mom-everything-falls-into-place' gene??
PLEASE, somebody help me feel normal!!
I'm constantly frazzled. And forgetful. I actually lit the stove on fire, for the 2ND TIME yesterday. I started a grilled cheese sandwich, walked away to change a diaper, then remembered I needed to shave my legs, and brush my teeth. Sure enough, ten minutes later, I couldn't figure out why it smelled so 'smokey' in the house.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again.......Being a mother does not come naturally to me. I have NO idea what I'm doing. My defining moments as a mother, are usually the ones that make other people laugh, and me cry.
And, YES, I struggle with the fear of failing my children on a daily (if not hourly) basis. I love them. Honestly and truly. And I don't want to screw them up. I'm not even quite sure how we'll afford college, let alone years of therapy.
As if to totally sum up this point, my 5 year old says to me, as I drop him off (late) for school this morning:
"Mom, how come we were on time yesterday?"
Me: "We were? Wow, that's impressive. We actually did it once this school year!"