By: Sarah Watson
As a mother, I’ve experienced the full spectrum of emotions—pacing anxiously, shedding tears, and even feeling physically ill from the weight of it all. But after a refreshing shower, a glass of wine, a few gluten-free cake pops, and a little assistance from a calming aid, I’m ready to dive into the realities of motherhood.
Let’s face it: I truly love being a mom. For about 72.3% of the time, it’s a rewarding experience. Sure, I can be a bit loud, and yes, I occasionally indulge in snacks to cope with my feelings. A Pop-Tart here and there may not be the healthiest choice, yet I can proudly say I haven’t harmed anyone else in the process. That’s a win, right?
I’ve certainly been observant of others and have voiced my thoughts, but I recognize that I am responsible for raising my children. (Counseling will likely be in their future—we have a savings plan for that.) However, it’s crucial to remember that my kids are individuals with their own thoughts, opinions, and quirks, distinct from my own.
For instance, one of my daughters recently stood as a bridesmaid at a same-sex wedding. Another is a staunch supporter of progressive politics, sporting Bernie Sanders T-shirts and genuinely believing he still has a chance. Then there’s my son, who proudly displays a bumper sticker proclaiming, “You can take my gun when you pry it from my cold dead fingers.” None of these perspectives reflect the beliefs my partner and I instilled; they are simply who they are.
For those unfamiliar with my journey, my partner and I thought we were such exemplary parents that we welcomed three more children through foster care and adoption. One of them is a true biter—think T-Rex-level bites. Another talks incessantly, often blurting out remarks like, “Why is your head so big?” or “I hate your baby; I only like my baby.”
After navigating the escapades of these two, affectionately dubbed “the vandals,” I’ve learned to keep quiet when a child somehow ends up in a tiger enclosure or a shark tank at the zoo. I can only imagine what headlines would say about us.
I strive to be a present mom, guiding them, praying for their well-being, preparing their meals with care, and ensuring they’re well-groomed. Yet, despite my efforts, they remain a delightful mess.
My 14-year-old, for instance, has a remarkable talent for playing the piano by ear—something she’s done since she was just two years old. She can sing beautifully too, a skill I find both impressive and slightly intimidating. My partner and I sometimes feel uneasy, tiptoeing around her abilities as if she might unleash her powers like a superhero. While we hope she finds success and cares for us when we’re older, her achievements are her own, entirely separate from our influence.
In today’s society, there’s a tendency to measure our worth as parents by our children’s successes, and we often unfairly assign blame when they stumble. “That child is a mess; she must have been raised poorly,” we hear all too often. I’ll admit, there may be some truth to that. However, it’s essential to recognize that every child comes with their own set of innate traits and challenges.
On my bookshelves, you’ll find well-thumbed volumes about raising strong-willed, defiant, and learning-different children. My journals are filled with the prayers and concerns of a worried, overwhelmed mom. My blog chronicles experiences from military schools to home-schooling attempts, and even run-ins with the police—each incident a testament to the unpredictable nature of parenting.
In my heart lies a deep desire to raise healthy, happy, and good-hearted individuals. While my children are part of my life, they exist independently with their own spirits, talents, and shortcomings. One may need medication for anxiety, another might face legal challenges, while another could potentially discover a cure for cancer. They may find joy in simple jobs or aspire for greatness, but ultimately, they are their own people.
I wrote this piece for myself and for a fellow mother I encountered recently. While waiting in line at a store, I witnessed a young mother struggling with her child who has special needs. The scene was heart-wrenching, made worse by the judgmental stares she received from onlookers. Together with my daughter and another kind stranger, we helped her with her purchases and escorted her to her car. As the mother buckled her distressed son into his seat, her tears conveyed a powerful message: “I’m not a bad mom. I’m doing my best. My child means everything to me.”
These children are undoubtedly part of us, yet they are also distinctly their own beings. They possess unique talents and potential challenges. In the end, while they may achieve remarkable things, they will also make mistakes. They might offend, get into trouble, or disappoint. Despite my best intentions, I cannot mold them into perfection.
In conclusion, my children may not be flawless, and neither am I. But I know without a doubt that I am a good mom.
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Summary
This article reflects on the complexities of motherhood, emphasizing that while children may be a reflection of their environment, they are ultimately independent individuals with their own identities. The author acknowledges her imperfections and embraces the chaos of parenting while reaffirming her commitment to being a good mom.
Keyphrase: Good Mom Embracing Imperfection
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