I find myself reflecting on the kind of mother I envisioned being, and the truth is: I am not that mother.
Just yesterday, as my little one lay on the floor, wailing because I wouldn’t allow him to dip his fingers in the toilet (again), I was struck by the absurdity of the moment. His tears fell freely, clearly feeling betrayed by my refusal. And there I was, sitting cross-legged on the closed toilet lid, laughing uncontrollably. After all, what else is a mom supposed to do at 5:30 a.m., pre-caffeine, when the first meltdown of the day involves toilet water?
As my child emitted cries of despair, I stood up to fetch a towel to clean his hands. It was then that I caught a glimpse of something in the mirror that sent a shiver down my spine.
Who is that?
There she was, the polished version of myself — hair neatly braided, cheeks flushed, perfectly arched eyebrows, and a crisp shirt hugging her slim figure. As she pointed a finger at me, I realized with dread that it was… The Mother I Thought I Would Be.
I had seen her before, most recently at a drive-thru while ordering fries to entertain my child for a long journey. As I adjusted my rearview mirror, there she was again, that judgmental look plastered on her face. “You should have ordered the apple slices,” she admonished. I froze, unable to respond until the friendly drive-thru worker handed over the fries, and I promptly discarded them, feeling like a lunatic.
The truth is, I am haunted.
Haunted by the specters of maternal inadequacy. I can’t blame Pinterest-perfect parents or my supportive mom. I can’t even fault those seemingly flawless mothers at the local YMCA (seriously, full makeup at Boot Camp?). No, it’s my own fear that I’m not living up to the mother I aspired to be, that my child is missing out on something vital, that I should be doing so much better.
The Mother I Imagined would never find humor in a bathroom meltdown. Instead, she would have redirected the toilet antics to the sink, creating a delightful splash zone while discussing important topics like water displacement because, after all, educational moments are everywhere! She would have giggled through the cleanup and smoothly transitioned to the next enriching activity.
I strive to embody her, but the truth is, I can’t keep up. She’s busy with yoga, crafts, family portraits, and holiday cards. She represents everything I wish to be, yet if I’m being honest with myself, I can’t stand her. We would never get along; I’m not equipped to handle her smug lectures or her inflexible schedule. Her food choices? Not my style, and honestly, I have no idea where my iron is! I just toss my husband’s dress shirts in the dryer (shh, don’t tell).
The Mother I Thought I Would Be is flawless, and I feel like I could never step into her shiny shoes. Yet here I am, watching my toddler thrash about on the floor, expressing his frustration in his own way. I realize he’s not the child I imagined either.
So, I scoop him up off the bathroom floor, wipe his hands free of toilet water, and look into his beautiful green eyes, sharing a laugh. We both have our imperfections, but somehow, we fit together just right.
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In summary, while I may not be the perfect mom I envisioned, I embrace the chaos and joy of motherhood, knowing that my child and I are each a beautiful mismatch that works just fine.