I am not the mother I envisioned myself to be.
When I was pregnant with my twins, filled with excitement for the arrival of my first children, I painted a rosy picture of motherhood. I could see myself cradling a sweet, soft newborn on each shoulder, feeling their gentle breaths on my neck. I imagined that my days would be filled with the warm scents of freshly baked cookies and sunshine as I joyfully drove around, singing while tiny feet happily kicked in the backseat. I dreamed of laughing together in a sunny meadow, braiding hair, sharing secrets, and living in a state of perpetual adoration—both for my children and from them. I pictured myself as the perfect mom, like Marmee from Little Women, but with better hair and trendier shoes.
Then reality hit when I became a mother.
Every parent knows the truth. If I’m singing in the car, it’s often out of sheer desperation to drown out the cries of my little ones. Our family doesn’t often visit sunny fields, and the struggle to comb their hair is real—braiding it feels like a distant fantasy. The relentless demands of motherhood can be overwhelming. Most days, adoration takes a backseat to exhaustion. Dinner might be Cheerios, and skipping baths becomes a norm.
Yet, even on my most bleary-eyed days, even after a long stretch of frustration filled with tears because no one seems to listen, I find myself still idealizing motherhood.
In those rare quiet moments when the kids are finally asleep (which, let’s be honest, is the only time it happens), I find those bright, shining images creeping back into my mind. As I lie in bed, I think about how maybe tomorrow will be different—perhaps I will radiate cheerfulness and embody that sunshine smell, and my children and I will truly adore one another.
Motherhood consists of far more hard work than idyllic picnics or whispered secrets, yet I believe we must hold onto that idealized version. It might be embedded in our very nature; we can’t help but cling to those dreams, as they fuel us to carry on day after day. I fully recognize that my children are not perfect, and neither am I; but occasionally, in brief, sweet moments, we are.
When I lean down to kiss one of my twins goodnight, exhausted and yearning for the day to end, she cups my face in her tiny hands, showering it with delicate kisses and giggles. I can’t help but giggle back, and in those moments, I feel a warmth that makes it all worthwhile.
When I pull a child onto my lap to tie her shoelaces and she nestles into me, declaring, “I’m in my nest,” I feel a connection that lingers, even amidst the chaos of a messy home, clothes stained with food, and my deep craving for a moment of peace.
Some days, the challenges of motherhood can be so suffocating that simply breathing feels like a task. You might wonder how you’ll survive the next hour, let alone the next day or the next eighteen years. You push through because you must, feeling as though your existence is filled with poor choices, challenging days, and exhaustion. It’s important to open up about these struggles with fellow parents and to be honest about the hardships.
However, I firmly believe we also need to cherish the dreamlike aspects of motherhood. Without that idealism, fewer people might choose to embark on the journey of parenthood. We could easily become a society of older individuals, wandering through a dull world devoid of the joys that children bring. So, even if the beautiful, idealized moments of motherhood only appear like soft rays of sunlight on a cloudy day, I will keep searching for them.
They are there. I can feel it.
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Summary: Motherhood often diverges from our idealized visions; the reality is filled with challenges and exhaustion. Yet, amid the demands and chaotic moments, fleeting instances of joy remind us of the love and connection we have with our children. It’s essential to balance our struggles with the beauty of motherhood, as nurturing that dream keeps us motivated to continue the journey.