Sitting at a cozy table in the local YMCA’s Tropical Smoothie, I was engrossed in various fun learning activities with my 5-year-old daughter, Lily. We were sharing giggles, writing heartfelt journal entries about our loved ones, crafting bar graphs with colorful conversation hearts, and diving into storybooks. In that moment, a woman nearby watched us with a smile, clearly thinking I was a stellar mom.
What she didn’t see was the chaos that had unfolded just an hour earlier. My two sons, Max and Oliver, were in a heated argument. Max was panicking over the stubborn paint on his hands, while Oliver had climbed up to the sink, leading to a symphony of whining and screaming. As a mom, I usually strive to redirect their conflicts, but that morning, my energy was completely drained. Despite having two cups of coffee, I felt utterly exhausted even before 8 a.m. I chose to remain quiet, putting on mascara to lift my spirits, secretly hoping they would resolve their dispute without my intervention.
Unfortunately, my patience wore thin. I set down my mascara, scooped up my preschooler, and placed him on the couch, ironically shouting that he needed to stop whining and screaming. My frustration boiled over as I huffed, “You’re 5 years old! Act your age!” In a moment of anger, I forced a shirt onto him and insisted he was going to school, although we had recently agreed to do homeschool. I knew I was wrong; I was trying to teach him appropriate communication while behaving in the exact opposite manner.
Oliver, my 2-year-old, approached me, suggesting we take deep breaths—something we’ve practiced together many times. Instead of listening, I stormed to my bedroom, slamming doors in my wake. I let out a primal roar that felt momentarily relieving but left my throat sore by evening.
When I reemerged, still shouting at Max, he retorted, “What about you?” His words struck a chord. I typically avoid losing my temper, but he had a valid point. I paused, took a breath, and calmly acknowledged, “We both have room for improvement.” The look in his eyes—a mix of disgust and hurt—shattered my heart. I asked, “What should we do?” He replied, “Make it better and be nicer to each other.”
Max led me upstairs to his room, where we cuddled under a blanket. He shared that he felt bad, and I admitted I felt the same. I explained that we need to love not only one another but also ourselves. I encouraged him to affirm his worth, telling himself he was perfect just as he is. When it came to my turn, I struggled to believe it. With my hand on my heart, I expressed, “Being a mom is tough. It’s a constant battle of patience and prioritizing others.” Surprisingly, the acknowledgment felt good.
I realized he needed to hear that being a 5-year-old, especially with a little brother in the way, is challenging too. He agreed, and we continued to hold each other, both admitting our hearts felt “cracked.” I apologized for my earlier outburst, including the incident with the umbrella stroller, and despite our flaws, we forgave ourselves and each other before heading to the YMCA.
There, we transformed into the perfect family, engaging in open conversations and sharing genuine moments. I listened as he described his drawings and truly connected with him. I wasn’t just projecting the image of a fantastic mom; I was indeed one—though I occasionally stumble.
I strive to communicate with my children respectfully, empowering them with love and acceptance. Yet, the reality is, I’m not always the mom I aspire to be or the one others perceive. Admitting this truth is tough. As I write this, I feel the urge to soften my actions, but I know that’s not genuine. I am, in fact, that imperfect mom.
Later, I stumbled upon a Walt Whitman quote: “I’m as bad as the worst, but thank God, I’m as good as the best.” Suddenly, my redeeming qualities felt more pronounced. The weight of guilt lessened, and I embraced the idea that I can contain multitudes.
Ultimately, it doesn’t matter how that woman at the YMCA perceived me; judgments are often only half-true. I define who I am, and every moment offers me the freedom to choose that identity. For more insights on fertility and parenting, check out this post from our other blog. For a deeper understanding of the topic, this resource is excellent for exploring pregnancy and home insemination. Additionally, for more parenting wisdom, visit Modern Family Blog.
Summary
This reflection captures the chaotic yet heartfelt journey of motherhood, highlighting the balance of being an imperfect parent while also embracing moments of love and connection with children. It emphasizes the struggle of maintaining patience and self-acceptance in parenting, ultimately celebrating the duality of being both flawed and wonderful.