When I envisioned motherhood as a child, I dreamed of being the mom who baked cookies. I imagined my kids walking in from school to the delightful aroma of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies waiting for them on the counter. Perhaps my vision was influenced by classic shows like Leave it to Beaver. Regardless, that was the ideal mother I aspired to be. My home would be immaculate, I’d dress stylishly, volunteer at school events, and greet my children with a warm plate of homemade cookies at the door. That was my version of the perfect parenting experience.
Fast forward thirty years, and cookies are a rarity in my home—far too unhealthy for my taste. The kids don’t come home from school anymore; instead, my journey as a schoolteacher transitioned into homeschooling my own children. As for my house? Let’s just say it’s not exactly a picture of cleanliness. While I’ve managed to maintain some semblance of self-care, my sense of fashion disappeared along with my twenties—an era when I thought I would be the epitome of patience and understanding as a mother (what a laugh!).
I’m not dissatisfied with my choices as a parent, but I’ve become a very different mother than the one I imagined. Sometimes, when I look in the mirror, I find myself wondering about the woman gazing back at me. Who is she? How did she end up here? And why is there a permanent furrow between her brows?
I thought that as I gained experience in parenting, I’d become more patient, more gentle, and more understanding. Yet, paradoxically, I often feel like I’m struggling more now than ever. In my initial years as a mother, I was filled with idealism, devouring parenting books and wholeheartedly trying to apply their advice.
Now, after thirteen years and three children, I feel worn out. Navigating my kids through babyhood and toddlerhood, I expected parenting to become easier as they grew, but instead, it simply evolved into different challenges. I absolutely cherish my children and genuinely love motherhood. If that weren’t the case, I wouldn’t write about it. The joys certainly outweigh the struggles, but still, I’m fatigued.
Is this fatigue a reflection of me, or is it simply the reality of parenting? Can parenthood truly remain unchallenging after all these years? How many times can I approach whining, bickering, and tantrums with patience before my head spins? How often can I suppress the frustrations of maintaining a household filled with young, energetic beings without feeling overwhelmed?
I realize I might be too hard on myself and the entire parenting journey. This could be my perfectionist tendencies surfacing, and I’m sure this winter of challenge will eventually give way to a spring of renewal. After all, I’ve been at this long enough to recognize the seasonal nature of parenthood. Yet, each winter seems interminable when you’re in the thick of it, doesn’t it?
It’s been thirteen years since my eldest was born, and there are still thirteen more until my youngest reaches adulthood. I feel like I’m halfway up the mountain of motherhood, carrying a backpack filled with ideals that have only become heavier as the climb has steepened. One by one, I’ve had to let go of those ideals. Farewell, Mom-who-never-yells. Goodbye, Mom-who-plays-creative-games-with-her-kids. Adios, Mom-who-never-uses-electronic-babysitters. So long, Mom-who-bakes-cookies.
I often wonder why that “cookie mom” image lingers in my thoughts. Maybe it’s because there’s a lesson to glean from it. Perhaps it signifies that ideals are meant to evolve. Maybe those cookies symbolize comfort and love, which I do offer my children daily, just without the excessive butter and sugar. Maybe idealism in motherhood is akin to salt in a cookie recipe—just the right amount enhances flavor, while too much ruins the 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 meaningful choices and sacrifices for her children. She prepares healthy lunches and delicious chili that her kids adore. She mends scrapes and offers apologies when she’s been unfair. She makes flexibility seem effortless and embraces adventure as a lifestyle. She finds joy in her family’s circumstances and turns life’s lemons into lemonade. She knows how to make her kids and husband laugh, and she helps other mothers feel less alone on this parenting journey.
And yes, she bakes cookies occasionally because she loves seeing the joy on her children’s faces.
It’s amazing how a little reflection can change your perspective. Suddenly, that daunting summit doesn’t appear as intimidating, my load feels lighter, and I think I can sense spring approaching.
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In summary, motherhood may not match the idyllic vision I had as a child, but it comes with its own set of unique rewards and challenges. As I continue navigating this journey, I find strength in the love I give and receive.