Motherhood: The Reality Check

A couple days ago, I stumbled across this gem on Facebook:


{photo source}

. . . and it stuck in my head.

Why? Well, it just so happened to coincide with a day where I was one of the top 5 finalists for the "World's Worst Mom" award.

You see, Hannah had spent what felt like 98% of the day in a state of unrest. . . which, for Hannah, generally means 1) crying, 2) whining, 3) hitting things that displease her, 4) crying because she's crying and can't remember why, 5) whining because she has exhausted her tear ducts.

I couldn't win. I could feel myself rapidly approaching the end of my mental-sanity rope, but just as I was trying to tie a knot with which to hold on, it unraveled completely. When that happens {as it does with alarming frequency some weeks}, it usually results in a blow up where I yell Hannah's name at the top of my lungs and, in return, receive a look that would freeze {or re-freeze, if you believe in global warming} the polar ice caps. But does she cease creating unholy amounts of ruckus? Negative. She continues with great gusto.

Not that I blame her, of course. If I got yelled at, I would probably do the same thing.

. . . Well, actually, that's a lie. I would probably slink into a corner and fade into the wallpaper. But that's not Hannah's style.

Oh, no.

She dishes it back.

And, man oh man, can she dish it.

. . . .

After one of these "episodes" passes and my temper fizzles, I promptly submit my name for the "World's Worst Mom" award and cross my fingers that I'll win. Because, hey, that would mean that I'll have at least succeeded at something, even if it wasn't motherhood.

My whole life, I've always pictured the kind of mother I would be.

Let's just say that I missed the mark by. . . um. . . a lot. :) There isn't a steady stream of enlightening activities strewn on the kitchen table alongside a perfectly balanced lunch {with proper portions of all food groups}. I don't mind reading the same book forty times in a row, but I haven't published my own set of toddler-approved-best-selling children's books. I don't always manage to see the light at the end of the tunnel when I'm woken up from a sound sleep for the third time in as many hours by a sick child. Sometimes my task-oriented mind is allowed to take precedence over watching my kid build an impressive tower out of goods pilfered from the pantry. My patience wears thin and my voice is raised more than I would have ever imagined possible.

But life has a funny way of surprising you like that.

. . . .

Some days seem insurmountable to me. Some days I go to bed at night wondering how in the world I'll survive another day like the one I just had. Some days I go through that ritual for the entire week {and then some}.

But I always survive. And some how, against all odds, Hannah still loves me.

Some how, against all odds, she still thinks I'm the cat's meow and wants to sit by me on the couch and watch Winnie the Pooh. She still loves to put little finger smudges on my glasses and swirl her hand around in my hair. She still says, "Hiiiii!" whenever I come into the room like she didn't just see me 30 seconds ago.

When any of those little things happen during the ho-hum-grind of the day, it helps uproot the "bad mom" weed and plant, instead, the seed that will hopefully grow into a "good mom" tree. It helps me see that maybe, just maybe, I'm not so bad after all.

. . . . .

There are times when I watch this little bean hop around in my belly and I worry that I'll be a horrible mother of two precious children. I've already established multiple times that I can barely handle one kiddo. . . what am I going to do with two?

But then I remember that, hey, life surprises you.

I may just find my groove.

I can promise you that I still won't reach all of those requirements set forth by my pre-kid self. That perfectly balanced lunch will still elude me; and whenever I attempt an enlightening craft, I'm sure it will be foiled by one thing or another. I'll still unravel my rope from time to time and blubber to my husband that I'm the worst person alive.

But my kids will know I love them no matter what.

I'm SO not a perfect mom, but there are many things I do well and many things to be thankful for. There is a beautiful little girl asleep in the next room who thinks I'm pretty darn awesome, despite my unlimited flaws. There is a little man doing his nightly aerobics routine in my belly right now that trusts me enough to be his mom. . . so maybe I should trust myself a little more, too.