As I reflect on my parenting journey, I find myself realizing that I am not the mother I once envisioned. Just yesterday, as my child, Leo, lay on the floor in tears because I refused to let him play in the toilet bowl (again), I felt a wave of conflicting emotions. His cries echoed around the bathroom, and I could see the betrayal in his eyes, yet I found myself chuckling. What else could I do at 5:30 AM, pre-caffeine, as the day’s first meltdown unfolded over toilet water?
As Leo expressed his anguish, I rose to fetch a towel and clean his hands. That’s when I caught a glimpse of a figure in the mirror. Who is that? There she stood, the embodiment of my expectations, with her flawless braid draped over one shoulder, a hint of blush on her cheeks, impeccably shaped eyebrows, and a pressed shirt accentuating her slim silhouette.
Then, she pointed a finger at me, and a chill ran down my spine. It’s… The Mother I Thought I Would Be! I had encountered her before, most recently at a drive-thru while ordering snacks to keep Leo entertained during a long drive. As I adjusted the rearview mirror, there she was, judging me with her perfect features. “You should have ordered the apple slices,” she whispered.
I was paralyzed with embarrassment, unable to respond. “Ma’am, your fries,” the friendly attendant said, concern evident in her voice as she handed me the bag. I drove ahead and tossed it in the trash—like a madwoman.
You see, I am haunted by the specters of parental insecurity. I cannot hold the Pinterest-perfect parents accountable for my feelings, nor can I blame my own supportive mother or those immaculate moms at the gym. My anxieties stem from the relentless belief that I am falling short in the motherhood role I aspired to fulfill. I worry that Leo is missing out on something essential, that I should be doing so much better.
The Mother I Imagined I Would Be would never find amusement at a moment like this. Instead, she would have redirected Leo’s interest from the toilet to a water play setup in the sink, creating a delightful mess filled with bubbles and laughter—the perfect educational experience! After cleaning up, she would have seamlessly transitioned into the next enriching activity.
I strive to embody her, but I find it impossible to keep pace with her busy schedule of yoga, crafts, and family photo shoots. While she represents the ideal, I must confess: I harbor resentment towards her. I cannot tolerate her self-righteousness or her rigid routines. Honestly, her food choices leave much to be desired, and I’m not even sure where my iron is! I routinely toss my husband’s shirts into the dryer (shh! don’t tell).
The Mother I Thought I Would Be is flawless, and I feel like I can never measure up. However, as I observe Leo rolling around on the bathroom tiles, expressing his frustrations, I come to a realization: he is not the child I thought he would be, either.
So, I scoop him up from the floor, clean his hands, and gaze into those beautiful green eyes. We may both have our imperfections, but together, we fit perfectly.
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In summary, while I may not be the mother I envisioned, I am learning to embrace our unique journey and imperfections. Parenting is a continuous process of growth, and together we are navigating this adventure, finding joy in our shared experiences.