In the realm of motherhood, I have navigated through moments of anxiety, frustration, and even despair. However, after indulging in a rejuvenating shower, savoring a glass of wine, enjoying four gluten-free cake pops, and taking a bit of Xanax, I feel ready to reflect on my experience as a mom.
Motherhood brings me immense joy, at least 72.3% of the time. I admit, I’m prone to yelling and sometimes use food to cope with my emotions—yes, a Pop-Tart here and there might not be the healthiest choice, but I can proudly say I haven’t harmed anyone else. That counts for something, right?
I also tend to be observant, occasionally sharing my thoughts aloud. Yes, I accept responsibility for raising these children, who will undoubtedly need therapy someday (there’s a fund for that). Yet, they are individuals in their own right, developing thoughts and traits that diverge from my own quirks.
For instance, one of my kids recently served as a bridesmaid at a same-sex wedding, while another proudly sports Bernie Sanders shirts, convinced he still has a chance. Then there’s the child who expresses strong political opinions, having just purchased a bumper sticker declaring, “You can take my gun when you pry it from my cold, dead fingers.” These beliefs are not necessarily reflective of my husband and me.
In a moment of what we thought was brilliance, we decided to invite three more kids into our family through foster care and adoption. One of them has a biting habit that could rival a T-Rex, while another never stops chattering, often with comments like, “Why is your head so big?” or “I only like my baby, not yours.”
After dealing with the antics of these two, lovingly known as the vandals, I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut when I see a child tumble into a tiger exhibit or a shark tank at the zoo. I just know we’ll make headlines one day.
I strive to be vigilant, guiding them as best I can while praying for their safety. I cut the crusts off their sandwiches and keep their nails trimmed. Still, they remain a delightful hot mess.
Our eldest, at 14, possesses an extraordinary talent for playing the piano by ear since the age of two. She also has a remarkable singing voice, a skill we attribute to her own unique gifts rather than our parenting. Honestly, it’s a bit unsettling, and we often find ourselves tiptoeing around her, fearful of potential outbursts.
While we hope her abilities will lead to a bright future where she can support us in our old age, we recognize that her accomplishments are her own. In our society, we too often conflate our parenting with our children’s successes and failures. When a child misbehaves, the blame frequently falls on the mother: “She must have really messed that kid up.”
I won’t deny my shortcomings as a parent. However, I also acknowledge the innate traits that these children bring with them. My bookshelves are lined with well-worn texts about strong-willed, challenging, and learning-disabled children. My journals are filled with prayers from a frazzled mom seeking guidance. My blog chronicles our trials—military school considerations, homeschooling failures, police encounters, and other daunting experiences.
In my heart, I carry the pieces of a woman striving to raise healthy, happy, God-fearing individuals. They are intertwined with my existence, yet they are distinct beings. My children may achieve greatness, but they will also stumble. They might make mistakes that could cause offense or even lead to arrests. Despite my hopes, I cannot mold them into perfection.
Recently, while at Target, I observed a young mother struggling with her son who has special needs. The scene was painful to witness as the boy had a meltdown, and the judgmental stares from onlookers only added to her distress. My daughter, another mom, and I assisted her with her purchase and helped her to her car. As we secured her son into the car seat, the mother broke down, expressing, “I am not a bad mom. I am doing my very best. My boy is my whole world…”
These children are an integral part of us, yet they exist as individuals apart from us. They possess unique talents, challenges, and paths in life. One may require medication, another might face legal troubles, while another could discover a cure for cancer—each path is theirs to forge.
I wrote this for myself and for that mom at Target to remind us both: My kids aren’t perfect, and neither am I. But I am a good mom.
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In summary, motherhood is a complex journey filled with both triumphs and challenges. While my children may not be perfect, I take pride in my role as a loving and dedicated mom.
Keyphrase: Acknowledging My Role as a Mom
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