Being a mother brings out the best and the worst in me.
Sometimes all I want is to cuddle with my son.
Sometimes I just want to hide in the bathroom and lock the door just to be alone and untouched for once.
Sometime I am hyper-vigilant in watching him, to the point that I can catch him before he starts to fall.
Sometimes I look away too long and he falls hard.
Sometimes he is so clean and shiny and he smells wonderful.
Sometimes I can’t remember his last bath.
Sometimes I will read him books over and over again for hours on end.
Sometimes I just hand him books to play with so I can do something else.
Time spent being a mother is time spent tearing yourself in half between selfishness and selflessness. You feel like your identity is in your child and feel lost when you don’t have them near to hold. You want to do everything “right” and never fail. You don’t want others to see your mistakes for fear that they view you as bad at mothering. You will never please everyone, least of all your own self.
Sometimes you pour all your love into one defenseless, little person.
Sometimes you cry.
But that’s motherhood.
When a baby is sick
All he wants to do is stick
More milk inside his stomach
And all throughout the night and day
His tired mother has to wait and pay for
The fever and germs that contaminate
Because the tired child cries often
(Though sometimes he softens
Just enough for a cuddle)
All I can hope for is
A lack of fever
While I look at my child as he crawls and climbs and falls, it occurs to me that I was once a child like this.
I look back at my childhood dreams and teenage stupidities and wonder what sort of dreams and stupidities my baby will have as he ages.
I made life so hard for my parents. I hated them at some points, even. The worse thing my child does to me is try to run away as I change his diaper. He may have a day where he hates me. It may last longer than a day and it seems so hard to believe.
Motherhood is hard. Parenthood is hard. My husband just had to do compressions on a man who committed suicide. His own mother was the one that found him, and that scares me.
I guess all I can really do is teach my child to love and to value the fragility of life. As his mother, I want to protect him and keep him in a perfectly safe bubble, but this will make him value so little. He needs to experience the harshness of life to understand the beauty of it.
But I am afraid. I cannot help it. Forgive me.