- Posted July 2, 2013 by
This iReport is part of an assignment:
Confessions from imperfect parents
I hate being a mom
Growing up, I was not the girl who dreamed about her perfect, white wedding. I didn’t imagine my Prince Charming riding in to save me from my impending doom. In turn, I never envisioned having children of my own. Becoming a mother never made a blip on my radar. However, I loved children and often babysat for many families throughout my teenage years. I was a wonderful babysitter and kids were drawn to me as if I possessed some mystical power. They listened to me. They adored me. I was the child whisperer.
Because of this, I just knew I’d be an amazing mother. I would be the mom my kids would love to be with. They would listen to me and rarely whine. They would be free and happy.
When I became pregnant with my son in 2004, I was over the moon. I pictured the kind of mother I’d be. My son and I would create memories together. I knew I would be a liberal parent and allow my kids to discover the world the way a kid should. With complete abandon. I just knew my son and I would create a bond that would surpass time. While pregnant, I imagined he and I entwined in these moments of snuggly bliss. Nothing would make me happier and nothing would compare to the joy I’d have being the mom to a little boy.
Don’t get me wrong. I knew parenting would be challenging. Honestly, what could be harder than the responsibility of raising a tiny human? Upon my son’s arrival on this earth, I was enamored. That newborn baby was beautiful. He was really quite the perfect baby. His first year was magical. It was like going to Disneyland every day. All the snuggly bliss was real!
As time progressed, I became pregnant with my second child in 2008. Again, I imagined all of the moments you see in Gerber commercials. A wobbly toddler smiling, laughing as she reaches her hands out to her mother excited about her first steps. Yes, a girl. What could be more ideal? A boy and a girl. I thought about how much the two would love each other. How lucky my son and daughter would be to have each other.
Well, someone should have told me when infants progress to big kids is when the real challenges present themselves. For me, those baby days were a breeze. Although sleep deprived and stretched thin, it was simple. Babies only require three things: Food, diaper changes and love. It really is such a simple existence for babies and to meet those needs was easy for me.
As I reflect on my time as mother in the beginning, I long for those days. I loved being a mom. Now, there are more days than not I detest being a mother. . All my snuggly bliss has been replaced with two children constantly fighting and needing me for every minute thing. I struggle with finding happiness in motherhood. All the time I spent imagining those perfect children and the mother I’d be have not come to fruition despite my best efforts.
I wake up every morning knowing what lies ahead. It’s a hectic, frenzied start every morning. Waking the kids up, feeding them breakfast and getting them ready for school before I rush to drop them off and head to work. Upon school dismissal, it’s pick up the kids, help with homework, cook dinner, break up ongoing sibling fights, clean up some mess that somehow managed to manifest itself in the short time we’ve been home. And so the cycle continues every day. I struggle with finding and truly enjoying the calm, happy moments.
I’m so worn-out every day. More than I ever was in the newborn days when the kids were waking up several times a night reminding me of their presence. I hate the work that goes into every single detail of our lives. I hate that I’m rarely alone. I am always needed by someone in our home. Two kids. Two dogs. One husband. I’m always on call. I hate it. I hate it.
I never tell people about my hatred toward being a mom. Without fail, someone would assume it makes me terrible person who should never have kids. There have been moments when I discuss how exhausted I am and how much I just wish I could be alone for a week. I’m met with criticism over my wishes to escape this mania called motherhood. If that thought is frowned upon, I can’t imagine telling someone I hate being a mom.
Before I end my tale, let’s get a few things straight: I do not hate my children. I do not let them know how overwhelmed I am. I do not regret making the decision to have them. I just slap on that Stepford Wife smile and continue to parent with love and kindness.