No one told me that some days I may wish I wasn’t a mother.
Do not misunderstand me. It’s not that I wish my child didn’t exist or I regret having one. But there are times that I want to/need to sleep late. Go see friends and stay out spontaneously without having to secure a babysitter. I fondly remember looking forward to vacations or events or the simple act of a new TV season being dropped on Netflix.
Instead, there are times it’s hard to summon up that excitement. Because while I do love to spend time with my child, sometimes it seems like an endless cycle of waking up early, playing until boredom, then starting to count down the hours until naptime or bedtime. Because then – I will find some space and time that exists solely for me, even if it just means chores on top of more chores. It is there I will become myself again, no one’s mother or caretaker; I only have to worry about my wants and needs, options endless but never enough time to fully cater to them all.
Sometimes the monotony of it all is enough to crush my spirit.
But in a way it’s pointless. The moment my children are away from me, with someone else for an extended amount of time, I start to miss them. I want them with me. My overwhelming love seeps through my pores, into the air I am inhabiting. What is this ironic twist of fate? That once I have my coveted freedom and time to focus on myself, I just want to be right back with this little human, who still makes me feel complete?
On some level, I get it. Why would anyone warn me about these feelings when it seems so anti-motherhood? What mother would want to be away from her child or wish for a moment she had none just so she could have peace and quiet and take a bath on her own terms? Aren’t I an awful person for thinking this? Is this a bigger sign I wasn’t meant to be a mother? Am I defective?
But then…there are these moments where I love my babies so much I could cry. That the act of putting them to bed, and singing songs with them, brings me to tears. There are not enough words to convey how deep my love is for them. That I fear them growing up and living their own life and not realizing how much I treasure and adore them and would do anything for their safety. I would kill for them, take a bullet for them – sacrifice my very life so they will have better than I could have ever dreamed.
Why is this so hard? Why is it so difficult to accept motherhood at times? Why can’t I just soak up the sweet memories, knowing – I KNOW – I’m going to look back on this time with utter fondness, missing these treasured moments. Why can’t this experience be constant rainbows and butterflies?
Instead of sometimes wanting to cry because I feel that I am losing myself, missing out on opportunities for amazing friendships and relationships, missing out on experiencing life?
Yet, I know this IS life. And it’s an experience I could never regret. I recommend it to the fullest – how my life is transformed with a new meaning that cannot be defined. How can motherhood be such a contradiction?
I want to do better for the moms reading this if you are expecting. I don’t want to sugarcoat it or make it something it is not. This is really hard. It is life-changing. You may feel like me (or you may not) and have a hard time making room for yourself while making sure you provide everything to keep this tiny human alive and happy and healthy and completely content. You may feel, in moments, even if it’s for a fraction, that you wish you weren’t a mom.
And then your child will do something that floods instant joy back into your veins and you remember why. But in those pre-moments it’s hard. And if you feel them powerfully, you are not alone. You are not wrong. It’s not that you aren’t mother material. I think it’s just because we’re human.
And because parenthood is a beautiful chaotic mess that doesn’t stay neatly in a box.
And I will be there in solidarity with you.
