I find myself folding the cozy blankets in the living room—two large crocheted throws, a smaller one, and a woven wool blanket. Unless, of course, one of my children or my partner decides to drag in another one, which happens frequently.
In our more formal living space, there are the luxurious throws: an Irish wool blanket, a lovely cashmere gift, and a fluffy one that looks like it came straight from a Muppet movie. My husband and our three kids, especially the boys, love to pull them down, toss them around, or use them as makeshift forts. So, I end up picking up each one, folding it neatly, and placing it back in its spot—often repeating this process six times a day. This seemingly endless cycle seems to go unnoticed by everyone else.
The same pattern occurs with other small tasks around the house. I’m the one who carefully adjusts the throw rugs in the kitchen, dining room, and living room. I’m also the one who picks up the pillows (not always so patiently) after the kids use them to build their forts or simply throw them around for fun.
These are the everyday tasks that many mothers undertake, yet they often go unacknowledged. Over time, this lack of recognition can weigh heavily on one’s spirit. You start to feel insignificant, as if your time and efforts are unappreciated. And that can be painful.
It’s not the major chores that bother me. I don’t mind doing the laundry—washing, drying, sorting, folding, and putting it away. I tackle the bathrooms—albeit not as often as I should—and I sweep the floors. Cleaning up after messes, whether it’s from kids or pets, doesn’t bother me much either. At least these tasks are noticed, at least by myself and my partner, who kindly acknowledges my efforts (even if I have to remind him that I just swept the kitchen). That recognition brings a sense of purpose and shows him that I care for our family.
But it’s the little things that often go unnoticed. Each time I spot a marble, thanks to my youngest’s obsession, I pick it up and place it back in its container. Whenever I find one of the collectible coins from their grandfather, I make sure it ends up in their bank. I have a small metallic tray in the living room where I stash tiny items like Lego pieces, plastic soldiers, and marbles—though my family remains unaware of this effort. It’s disheartening to know that so much of what I do goes unseen.
There’s a well-known story that compares the grand architects of cathedrals to the humble workers who create the beauty we admire. This serves as a metaphor for the selfless nature of motherhood, suggesting that we shouldn’t need recognition for our work, as it contributes to a greater good. Is this what I signed up for? Maybe. But I still long for someone to notice when I’m bent over, retrieving crayons from the dog bowl, and say, “You’re doing a great job, Mom.” Or perhaps, “I saw you fold that blanket six times today. That’s impressive.”
Some might think I’m being melodramatic. “Get over it,” they might say, “this is part of being a stay-at-home mom.” Perhaps they’re right. Maybe a sprinkle of Mary Poppins magic would help me cope. Yet, it’s hard to summon that spirit when I’m removing a Lego piece from my dog’s paw. The tasks themselves aren’t particularly awful; it’s the feeling of being taken for granted that stings.
I put up the hand towels in the bathroom, take out the trash from every room, and lay out my children’s clothes, right down to their underwear, ensuring it fits. I select their shoes and hats to protect them from the sun. After a bout of illness, I neatly organize the medicine, periodically checking for expired items and making lists of what we need. I ensure the kids have sunscreen and their favorite snacks, yet all of this is invisible to them. Most of my daily efforts go unnoticed. Is this what motherhood means? Is this how love is expressed? Because honestly, this part feels like a struggle.
I’ve tried to share these feelings with my partner. He seems to understand, suggesting I shouldn’t get worked up over messes since I’m the one cleaning them. He recommended I teach the kids to take responsibility. I make an effort, and it helps a bit. But I worry that the burden is becoming too heavy for my eldest, which adds another layer of guilt.
So, I continue folding, picking up small toys, arranging pillows, and putting pens away, all while hoping for some acknowledgment from my family.
If you’re interested in reading more about the journey of motherhood and the intricacies of home life, check out this other blog post. And for more resources on home insemination, visit Make A Mom for their authoritative guide. Additionally, for insights on fertility and pregnancy, the Cleveland Clinic’s podcast on IVF and fertility preservation is excellent.
Summary:
In this heartfelt reflection, the author discusses the often unnoticed daily tasks that mothers perform in the home. From folding blankets to organizing toys, the routine responsibilities are rarely acknowledged, leading to feelings of futility and a desire for recognition. Despite the hard work and love poured into these tasks, the lack of appreciation can be disheartening. The author seeks validation for these small acts of care, emphasizing the importance of acknowledgment in maintaining a sense of purpose in motherhood.