It’s been a while since I’ve done a serious post, so it’s about time,
right? Apparently my blog is full of pictures of my family, sprinkled with
thoughts that too often sound like complaints. Like I’ve said before, though,
if I can’t write about what’s going on in my head and heart on my own blog, how
on earth will I be able to get any relief? Just letting thoughts become solid
matter as letters strung together can be cathartic, don’t you agree? Today’s
post is a confessional of sorts. And let me warn you, it might make you
uncomfortable. It might make you dislike me. It might make you say “what kind
of woman/mother/wife ARE you?!” Maybe I’m the only one who’s felt some of the
things I’m going to write about here. But if so, that’s OK. Because I’m me. Not
perfect, just perfectly me.
Today my mood is reflected in the weather I glimpse outside when I
stretch my neck and see out of the window in the office next to my cube. Gray.
Damp. Blah. Not very pretty. Gloomy. Sometimes it feels like when my moods are
so down, perhaps they are big enough to cause this weather. Once again I am stuck
in a cycle of thoughts, wishing I could be at home with my baby. Longing with
such ferocity it seems as though my heart weighs a thousand pounds. Last night
Olivia was happy enough, but only with her Daddy. She would push me away, and
fuss if I got too near. As if she were afraid I was going to steal her away
from the only man in her life. The best parent. As if I were the bad guy. Once
again my heart cracked. How many of these cracks can it bear before it
shatters? I’m thinking it will never shatter. It is so strong with love that it
can crack a trillion times and still hold, without wavering, all the heartaches
of all the mothers in all the world. As my sweet played with her Daddy, I
dutifully did my daily chores. Picking up clutter. Washing her daily dishes.
Packing up her food bag for the next day. Packing up her diaper bag. Things
moms do. Oh, but I was bitter. “Why do I have to do this every day? Why can’t I
come home and immediately play with my baby? Why do I have to waste precious
minutes doing “to-do’s” when I just want “to be?” Of course we all know things
need to get done. We all know I’m working on my OCD and I’m doing a darn good
job of it! (you should see my floors! There are smudges and crumbs everywhere!)
But this working mom is over it. We all also know that every part of my life
sometimes looks like an emotional tornado swept through, scattering logic,
upending normalcy, toppling sanity, from the longing not to have to work. The
tornado shoots itself out through my fingers as I slam the cupboard doors in
frustration.
Yesterday when I went to pick up my girl from her nanny, she was
having so much fun playing. Just running here and there, having a blast, and
excited to show me the things she had been doing. Not even wanting to leave!
Crack.
This morning I dressed her in a skirt and sandals, but it is
uncharacteristically cold, and she needs pants and socks. Why didn’t I think of
that? Why did I have to rush around to drop her off and get to a job I don’t
even like? Why did Jeff have to bring her adequate clothing? Why isn’t he
watching her during the summer, when I would give almost anything to be able
to? Crack.
And my mind wanders. And wonders yet again. If I were at home with
Olivia, would she have a stronger attachment to me? Would she prefer me over
Jeff, even just sometimes? If Jeff kept her during the summer, would she become
bored with him, and more excited to see me at the end of the day? If we move
and I get to stay home with her next year, will it be “too late” for our bond?
Is it ever too late to be a stay at home mom and the benefits that go with it?
If we had another baby, could I do something differently to make her love me
more? And there it is folks. BAM. We don’t want more kids. I don’t want another
baby. And yet, I think about this non-existent, never-to-be child and wonder if
she would love me more. Wonder what I could do to create a better, stronger relationship,
deeper love. Almost as if I want to replace the baby I do have. My heart. Replacing
my heart. Ouch. How could these thoughts make it into my brain? I would NEVER
trade Olivia. EVER. Not for a baby who loved me more. Not for ANYTHING. So what
is my mind doing? It’s sabotage. It’s my discontent playing tricks. Dirty,
unfair tricks.
I take the thoughts back, wrestle with them and turn them around. I remind myself of how
good we have it. How special that daddy/daughter bond is. That she really DOES
love me. That we are lucky to have two steady incomes and a loving nanny. The sun peeks out. The clouds part. The rain
stops. A vision from two days ago of Olivia pulling my face to hers so she can
snuggle me covers over EVERY SINGLE CRACK. And I get excited about going home.
Picking her up. Seeing how lucky she was to have such a fun and happy day. Watching
her show me, excitedly, what she played with. Looking at how brilliant her smile becomes
when she rushes to her Daddy. Appreciating all the support, encouragement and help my sweet hubby gives me each day. (For example, last night after I was finished rocking my sweet baby to sleep he said, "hurry! We have to watch the bachelorette!") Enjoying the special time Cade and Olivia have together, especially when he offers to play with her after dinner each evening, to give us a little more time to finish eating! Cherishing the way their giggles mingle together like music. Taking on the privileged burden of the DOING, the providing and
caring and preparing for my family each evening. BEING a mother. And though it may not look the way I dream of it, BEING exactly what I want to be and what I am.
