I find myself reflecting on the mother I thought I would become. This realization hit me hard yesterday as my child lay on the floor in a fit of tears, unable to comprehend why I wouldn’t allow him to dip his fingers into the toilet bowl—again. The sadness on his face was palpable; it felt as though I had betrayed him.
Seated cross-legged on the closed toilet lid, I couldn’t help but chuckle. What choice did I have at 5:30 AM, still caffeine-deprived, dealing with a meltdown over toilet water? As my little one expressed his outrage to the universe, I rose to fetch a towel to clean his hands.
Then, something caught my eye in the mirror. Who is that?
There she was, in all her imagined perfection—her sleek braid draping elegantly over one shoulder, cheeks slightly flushed, impeccably groomed brows, and a crisp shirt that hugged her slender frame. And as she pointed a finger at me in disapproval, I felt a chill run down my spine.
Oh no, it’s…The Mother I Thought I Would Be!
I had encountered her before, most recently at a drive-thru, ordering fries to occupy my child during a long trip. Adjusting the rearview mirror, I was met with her judgmental gaze. “You should have ordered apple slices,” she sneered. I was frozen, unable to react. As the friendly attendant handed me my fries, I drove a short distance and discarded them, feeling a bit unhinged.
I realize now that I am haunted by the specters of maternal insecurity. I can’t blame the Pinterest-perfect parents, nor can I fault my own supportive mother or the polished moms I see at the gym. My struggles stem from an incessant fear of not measuring up to the ideal mother I envisioned. I worry that my child is missing out because I’m not doing enough.
The envisioned mother would never be found laughing at absurdities while perched on a toilet. Instead, she would have redirected the toilet antics to the sink, creating a fun and educational water play experience. With a carefree laugh, she would clean up the bathroom and move on to another enriching endeavor.
I aspire to be that mother, but I simply can’t keep up. She is always busy with yoga, crafts, and family photos. The truth is, I can’t help but resent her a little. I wouldn’t want to be friends with her; her rigid routines and pristine meals are overwhelming. Besides, I have no idea where my iron is, and I often toss my partner’s dress shirts into the dryer (shhh, don’t tell).
As I watch my toddler thrash on the bathroom tiles, expressing his frustrations, I realize—I’m not the only one who hasn’t turned out as expected. So, I scoop him up and clean his hands, looking into his beautiful green eyes and laughing.
Yes, we both have our rough edges, but in our own chaotic way, we fit together perfectly.
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In summary, while I may not be the mother I envisioned, the reality is that both my child and I are perfectly imperfect together.
Keyphrase: The Mother I Never Expected to Be
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