I am not the mother I always envisioned I would be.
During my pregnancy with twins, as I eagerly anticipated the birth of my first children, I romanticized motherhood to an extreme degree. I envisioned cradling a tender newborn on each shoulder, their soft breaths warming my neck. I imagined radiating the scent of cookies and sunshine while joyfully singing in the car as little feet kicked in delight. I dreamed of sharing laughter in sunlit meadows, braiding their hair, exchanging whispers of secrets, and always basking in mutual adoration. I thought I would embody the spirit of Marmee from Little Women, but with more stylish hair and cuter shoes.
Then, motherhood became my reality.
Every parent understands the truth of this experience. If I’m singing in the car, it’s usually a desperate attempt to quell the cries that seem relentless. We rarely find ourselves frolicking in sunny fields, and convincing my children to allow me to comb their hair feels like an uphill battle, let alone attempting to braid it. The demands of motherhood are overwhelming. Most days, the focus on adoration is overshadowed by sheer exhaustion. Cheerios for dinner? Absolutely. Skipping baths again tonight? Why not.
Yet, despite the fatigue and the tears of frustration from feeling unheard, I still catch myself romanticizing motherhood.
In those rare, quiet moments when the children are finally sleeping—those precious intervals that seem to occur only when they are asleep—I find those bright, shining visions creeping back into my mind. As I settle into bed after a taxing day, I wonder if tomorrow will be the day I feel more cheerful. Maybe I will wake up smelling like sunshine, and my children and I will truly revel in our love for each other.
Motherhood consists of more hard work than leisurely picnics or shared secrets, but it seems that we must cling to some idealization. Perhaps it’s ingrained in our nature; it fuels our perseverance, day after day. I recognize that my children are not perfect, nor am I; yet, occasionally, we share those fleeting, sweet moments of perfection.
When I kiss one of my twins goodnight, exhausted and ready to conclude the day, she gently holds my face, showering it with tender kisses and giggles. In that moment, I can feel the connection. When I pull a child onto my lap to tie her shoelaces and she nestles against me, declaring, “I’m in my nest,” I can truly feel it.
The warmth of a small arm draped around my neck remains with me, even in the chaos of a messy home, my clothes stained with food, and my longing for a brief respite. Some days, the reality of motherhood feels suffocating; the thought of surviving the next hour or even the following eighteen years can be daunting. But we trudge on, aware of our struggles, and it’s crucial to share these experiences with other parents honestly.
However, we must still preserve our vision of the ideal motherhood. If we abandon that dream, fewer individuals will choose to embark on the journey of parenthood. Society could risk becoming a world of older individuals wandering through a dull existence. So, while the beautiful, idealized moments of motherhood may emerge only sporadically, like fleeting rays of sunlight piercing through a cloudy sky, I will continue seeking them out.
It’s there. I can sense it.
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In summary, motherhood can be a complex blend of exhaustion and joy, filled with moments of both chaos and connection. While the reality may be far from the idealized vision many of us hold, it is the brief, shining moments that keep us going, making the journey worthwhile.