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There are very few things in life that I treasure as much as my family (Cadbury Mini Eggs, and Kettle Chips are of course always in competition for my adoration. Sometimes I let them win). I love being married, and being a stay-at-home mom. It’s the life I dreamed of having. But I would be a liar if I said it was always roses, rainbows, chocolate, peaches and cream, and gummy bears. All of those things are heavenly and pretty much perfect. I would be a liar if I said I never felt down-in-the-dumps about my life, despite it being a pretty nice life. I can’t truthfully say either of those things. Sometimes I wish I could because then my world would be wrapped up in this nice, beautiful package, and the perfectionist in me could finally be at peace.
Alas (yes I just said alas), I live in an imperfect world. It drives me crazy. I want to be perfect. I can’t help it.
Back when the Husband and I decided to start a family, I remember being so excited and nervous to pee on that little stick, and then so let down when month after month that silly elusive second line failed to appear. I wanted so badly to get fat, and eat ice cream, then have this angel creature come into my life and grab my finger with his or her tiny fingers, then eventually call me mommy. Oh the fun we would have. And when that blessed line finally did appear I almost couldn’t believe that it was true. A baby. So happy. Biological clock at ease.
Fast forward a few years, when we now have two angel creatures in our midst. I live for them and they have pretty much become my world. Most days are simply put, so happy. We dance, we sing, we eat, we read, we play, we laugh. But (because there’s always a but), some days I’m elbow deep in diapers, potty-training, tantrums, chaos, noise, Don’t do that!, crying, laundry, dishes, hitting, throwing, and yelling. And I start to wonder what I got myself into, and then wondering if I’m a capable enough human being to handle it, and handle it well . . . plus be a good wife and an awesome redhead on top of that. There are people out there who just shouldn’t be parents right? Am I one of those? Because when I yell at my son for putting his boogers on my forehead while I’m sleeping, instead of calmly telling him not to do that, I start to feel like I have no right to parent these angel creatures as I keep calling them, since that’s what they are. So angelic, yet such little creatures.
If I were more of that perfect person I want to be, I wouldn’t let these rough patches dampen my mother spirit. But they do, increasingly so since my second was born. I’ve even found myself . . . annoyed with them at times. These little ones.
That’s bad, like on the level of saying I don’t like kittens. How quick I am to forget how sincerely I wanted them in my life. How quick I am to overlook all the good, as I get lost in moments of bad. So in an effort to remember this and regroup, I made a conscious effort to ignore my life’s lack of perfection, not just in raising kids, but in all aspects. That’s what it all came down to anyway. That pesky desire I had for things to be perfect. Here's a revelation: the times I am truly enjoying life are when I’m not taking everything so seriously, and instead just enjoying the odd, quirky things in my life and about me. Being able to see the hilarity in the day-to-day happenings. To be able to laugh just a tiny bit when my son does the whole booger thing again because I’m sure he will. The result of my efforts has been a much a happier me which in turn makes for a much happier family. I’d love to say that it’s easy to do. It’s actually not. Sometimes it’s really, really hard to look at the lighter side of things, like when my baby has just drawn blood while nursing. Thank you new tooth. Or when my husband tells me he wants to go to graduate school when I've gotten used to not being starving students. Thank you incessant desire for knowledge.
