Some days I feel like I’m doing really well at Motherhood. The days when I am calm and patient. The days when we bake and go to the park and make our own play dough.
Some days I feel what’s probably best described as mediocre. We survive the day. We are fed, watered, clothed and sheltered and I may have even taken the children on a little walk.
And there are some days when I just feel like I’m not cut out for this. These days always follow a poor night’s sleep, but as I said in my Bad Mummy post a couple of weeks ago, this is the reason; it’s not an excuse.
It’s not even my behaviour that gives me this impression – it’s just how I feel. I sit and wallow in how tired I feel and how I keep getting up every day, exhausting myself, even without really doing anything. I look at other mummies and wonder if they’re as tired as me or whether they feel as helpless when their toddler has a tantrum because, despite being a teacher, none of the techniques I try for dealing with these tantrums seem to work.
I have always wanted children – they have always been part of the plan. And literally every day I look at them, adore them and feel ridiculously blessed to have them. I love them a stupid amount.
And I suppose that’s why I know that, despite feeling like I can’t be cut out for this when I want to put them to bed at midday, I am cut out for this.
Because, by definition, a mother (as a noun), is someone who has children (tick✓). I am definitely managing that one.
But, more importantly, to mother (as a verb) means to bring up with care and affection.
And it makes me realise that, just because I didn’t make lavender scented play dough one day and just because we stayed at home all day and barely left the living room, it doesn’t mean I’m not cut out for motherhood.
Just because I’m tired, I am desperate for some ‘me’ time and I sometimes wish I could have a
week day off, it doesn’t mean I am not a good mother.
Every day I tell them I love them. I cuddle them. I check the weather every morning to make sure I don’t dress them to be too cold or too hot.
Some days I cry. I get frustrated and fed up. Some days I get angry.
But I am a mother. And not just the noun. A noun implies a lifeless, inanimate ‘thing’. Being a mummy is active. It is an intense response and reaction to the most challenging, most rewarding people in your world.
It is a verb. It is active. Like love.
No. It is love.
|When a picture melts your heart, you know you must be cut out for this.|