From a young age, I envisioned myself as the quintessential mother who baked cookies. I imagined my children arriving home from school to find a plate brimming with freshly baked chocolate chip cookies waiting for them. This image might have been influenced by nostalgic television shows, but it became my ideal of motherhood. I pictured a spotless home, a fashionable appearance, volunteering at school events, and the joy of greeting my children with homemade treats. That was my version of the perfect parenting experience.
Fast forward thirty years, and cookies have become a rare occurrence in our household—a choice I consider due to health concerns. My firstborn doesn’t return home from school anymore; I transitioned from being a schoolteacher to homeschooling. As for the state of my home, let’s just say it’s a far cry from pristine. While I do manage to look reasonably put together now that my children are past the toddler phase, the concept of being “fashionable” left me when I hit my thirties, the same time I thought I would embody the patient and nurturing mother I aspired to be—what a naive notion that was!
Though I cherish my choices as a mother, I am not the parent I once envisioned. When I glance in the mirror, I find myself questioning the woman looking back at me. Who is she? How did she arrive here? And what’s with that permanent furrow between her brows?
I once believed that with time and experience, I would evolve into a more patient and understanding mother. Ironically, I often feel like I’m struggling more as the years go by. Initially, I was filled with idealism when my first child was born. I devoured parenting books and earnestly tried to implement their advice.
Now, thirteen years and three children later, I find myself exhausted. After guiding my kids through infancy, toddlerhood, and early childhood, I expected parenting to become easier with age. Instead, it merely presents new challenges that feel just as daunting. I adore my children and genuinely love being a mother; the joys outweigh the difficulties. Yet, the fatigue is undeniable.
Is this exhaustion a personal failing, or is it simply the nature of parenthood? Can anyone truly navigate the complexities of parenting without feeling drained after more than a decade? How many times can I respond to whining or sibling disputes patiently before my mind reaches its breaking point? How often can I suppress the frustrations of managing a household filled with energetic children without feeling overwhelmed?
I recognize that I’m being overly critical of myself and the parenting process. This tendency likely stems from my perfectionist approach. I suspect that I am merely experiencing a phase of discontent, one that will eventually be followed by a renewed sense of purpose. I know from experience that parenting has its seasons. However, every winter feels interminable while you’re in it, doesn’t it?
With thirteen years behind me since my eldest came into the world, I realize I have another thirteen years before my youngest reaches adulthood. I’m halfway up the mountain of motherhood. I began this journey with a backpack full of ideals, which have only grown heavier and more burdensome as the climb has become steeper. Eventually, I had to start discarding those ideals one by one. Farewell to the mom who never yells. Goodbye to the mom who engages in imaginative play with her kids. Adieu to the mom who never resorts to electronic distractions. And, until next time, the mom who baked cookies.
I ponder why the “cookie mom” image lingers in my mind. Perhaps it’s a reminder that ideals can and should evolve. Maybe those cookies symbolize the comfort and love I provide my children, albeit without the excessive butter and sugar. Perhaps my idealism in motherhood is like salt in a cookie recipe—just the right amount enhances flavor, but too much diminishes sweetness.
The mother I see in the mirror may not be the one who bakes cookies every day, but that’s perfectly fine. She creates love through hard choices and sacrifices for her kids. She prepares nutritious lunches and a delicious chili that her children enjoy. She mends scrapes and offers apologies when needed. She embodies flexibility and embraces adventure. She makes the best of her family’s circumstances and turns life’s challenges into opportunities. She brings joy to her children and husband, and she supports other mothers on this journey.
And yes, she even bakes cookies from time to time because she enjoys seeing the delight on her children’s faces.
Reflecting on my experiences has shifted my perspective. Suddenly, the summit of motherhood doesn’t seem so intimidating, my burden feels lighter, and I can sense the arrival of a new season.
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In summary, motherhood is a journey filled with evolving ideals and unexpected challenges. While I may not fit the initial image I had of myself as a mother, I find fulfillment in the reality of my daily life and the joys it brings.