I smell like sour milk. I'm wearing yoga pants, white sweat socks with dirty-floor-gray soles and my second long sleeve t-shirt of the day. My knotted hair is in my face because the pony tail holder I took out at 7 this morning is for some reason still on my wrist.
The baby, who I didn't bother to take out of the carrier when I sat down, is wearing last night's pajamas, which I somehow got leftover chili on at lunch. Her head is about two inches from my cheek, and her breath is warm on my face. She has a spot of cradle cap in the corner of her right eyebrow. Her right arm is wrapped protectively around my left elbow.
The big girl, who finally fell asleep after screaming at me not to leave her for an hour, is also in last night's pajamas. Her lips are probably a little sticky from the grape Ibuprofen I dosed her with after the first half hour of crying. Her shoulder length curly hair was sweaty when I pushed it out of her face as I kissed her finally sleeping forehead and moved her head to her pillow.
My laundry is folded. My bed is made. I listened to a chapter of my library audio copy of Daring Greatly. The blinds are open and every once in a while I see a snowflake float past my window.
This is not really what I thought motherhood would look like.
Soon, both girls will be awake. Hopefully the afternoon will involve more playing than screaming. Hopefully I will find a way to stop hiding from my feelings of inadequacy, of frustration, of resentment, and really be present enough to enjoy the moments that appear, however messy they look. Hopefully I will take this moment to recharge, to gear up for the coming campaign, and I will be a better and more willing mother for having taken the moment.
We'll see.
Why do we have these notions that motherhood is pretty and perfect? That we have fabulous hair, coordinated (and clean) clothes and our houses are spectacular? It's the lack of reality that really gets to me and sets me up for disappointment. So just by you putting this out there--you've made the reality of motherhood that much easier to relate to.
ReplyDeleteAw, I love this!!! I know that you are uncertain right now, but let me assure you that there are plenty of us who are quite certain that you are a wonderful Mom - and let us hold that certainty for you. You've got lucky girls, and I'm really proud that you are taking time on this blog to talk about this stuff - and also the stuff you are doing right. Because it's a lot. I'm just super proud of you.
ReplyDeleteBig hugs hun! For what it is worth, I think you are doing a damn good job with those girls!
ReplyDeleteJenn
Im a single isolated mom of a two year old boy. I have been up all night doing laundry and paying bills trying to get his father to be more consistant and claim his wages for child support. I have been alone since the night before my first baby and me appointment over two years ago when my sons father walked out. I always wanted children but not like this, not under these circumstances. His father told me he had a vasectomy. Pretty iron clad, when you actually have them. He lied, left and got married. Now its been over two years and he wants to be part of his sons life, so he says. I resent him and Im so frustrated. when I read "Hopefully the afternoon will involve more playing than screaming. Hopefully I will find a way to stop hiding from my feelings of inadequacy, of frustration, of resentment, and really be present enough to enjoy the moments that appear, however messy they look. Hopefully I will take this moment to recharge, to gear up for the coming campaign, and I will be a better and more willing mother for having taken the moment."
ReplyDeleteI stopped beating myself up and realized Im not alone in the way I feel. Thank you for being honest, my son just woke up and I hear my name "Momma" I used to go by a different one but its been so long I don't even remember...
Oh honey. You're so not alone. With so much hard, all you can do is just keep going. And you are!
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