Wait…..Don’t I Get A Handbook ?!

Motherhood was always taught to me as something that every woman comes to know naturally. You might not have been good at anything prior, but at the time of your baby’s first breath, your instincts would kick in and you would just know. Hmm…. I guess I’m still waiting, then? I stare up into the sky and have come to the conclusion that maybe, JUST maybe, that little light switch was never turned on or it was broken upon arrival with a big ” no refunds ” sticker stamped on it.
I have three children and I still don’t know what I’m doing. I literally have to ask every single mother I know, everything they know. The questions are endless and vary in degree from how to fix their hair, to what age do you have the terrible and terrifying ( to me, anyway) talk about sex ?! I always envisioned myself being this super cool mom- “OH, you want to have a little party? Of course! Bring em’ all here and I’ll call the pizza delivery man!” Then when their friends would come over, they would love to see me because after all- I was just soo cool. Yeah well, I’m starting to think maybe those daydreams were simply a delusion from the many pain medications I received during labor. Every day is a struggle of what I think I should be doing versus what my inner cool mom thinks I should be doing and what society has deemed acceptable. Now don’t get me wrong, I definitely am not going to be one of those mothers that drink with their children and does drugs with them for the sake of saying ” Hey, they are going to do it anyway! Why not do it where I can watch them? ” No. I just wanted to be counted as a friend and mother at the same time, not some Nazi world leader that was just out to ruin their lives and force them to clean up the house at the most inconvenient of times.
I think my biggest fear to be completely honest, is that I’ll essentially break them. Yes, break my children. That from some random act on my part, that my children will be so damaged that they will be broken inside. That they will grow up to resent me and point out in fury, ” Well, of course, I’m doing this, because that one time when I wanted to sign up for swimming, you made me sign up for soccer and I have never been able to do what I wanted in life “. Okay, so maybe not that dramatic but you get the point. Every decision we make as parents are of the utmost importance and just like us mothers grew our children in the womb, we must also mold their future selves outside of it. No problem, right? Wrong. Being a parent is like being inducted into a secret society in which the only way to survive is for them to blindfold you, make you swim up the river and when you are ready to give up, inform you that you must now take a math test and PASS! ( or whatever subject you are most scared of ) Seems like a daunting task and a marathon uphill to say the least. So where is our handbook? Or is there some goddess of a mother or king of a father that have all the answers, because please send me the information on their exact location so that in my joyous delirium I’ll head straight into their all knowing arms!
No. There are no answers is there. No right way or wrong. Although, I do seem to want to bask in the glory of the PTA moms who remember every single event, remember every doctor’s check up and always have time to help with homework. They sing sweet lullabies and put their children to sleep after an hour of storytelling every single night. No, I have to come to the realization that we are all drowning in this aspect one way or another. Barely able to stay afloat in this twisted role of parenting. That the only thing I can do, is what I think is right and the best I can do depending on the situation at hand at any given moment. It would be glorious to have a handbook, but every child is different and there is more than one way to raise them. I have to understand and HOPE that my best is realized in their eyes and that they understand where my heart is. Yeah………a handbook would be nice. But my best can be nice too.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s