Updated: June 18, 2014
Originally Published: Feb. 21, 2011
When my partner agreed to start a family with me, I was taken aback. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised; we had chosen a name for our future daughter just four months into our relationship. We decided on the name Emma after binge-watching a classic film that featured a character we admired—not that we wanted her to be a role model, of course.
Despite having a name locked in, I was still stunned by his enthusiastic agreement to parenthood. Maybe it was the moment I chose—I was lounging in bed in my pajamas, happily snacking on junk food, with a mountain of dishes piled up in the sink. I certainly didn’t appear as composed as I thought I would need to be to convince him to embark on this journey. Honestly, I probably looked like an overly mature teenager.
I’m a bit of a paradox when it comes to accomplishing tasks. I tackle my goals with reckless abandon, but the mundane chores linger indefinitely. If I were to set out to conquer a new realm, I’m confident it would be done swiftly and with grace. Yet, I’d be one of the rare conquerors with a laundry pile threatening to topple over.
When our daughter was born, we wisely chose not to name her Emma despite it being the only name we had. I often find myself questioning many of our choices. We have improved our dishwashing routine, and our laundry situation is more manageable, but doubts still linger. There are moments when I feel like I’m merely pretending to be a parent.
When she does something new and mischievous, I often have to stifle a laugh. Sometimes, I wish she wouldn’t go to bed because we’re having too much fun, and I don’t want to interrupt the joy. Other times, I desperately want her to sleep so I can indulge in a little personal time that doesn’t involve cleaning up food splatter.
I don’t always feel like a real parent. I had envisioned that once I became a mother, I would lose all connection to pop culture and spontaneity. But, here I am—wandering around in my pajamas at 4 PM, flipping through channels hoping to catch a music countdown instead of yet another episode of a children’s show. Battling guilt over whether to reveal the latest celebrity gossip, I instead choose to dance along with silly characters. And honestly, I’m not always thrilled about it. Even after poring over parenting books and articles, I still feel like I’m figuring it out as I go along, pretending to be in charge while feeling like a child myself.
This leads me to question: were our parents just pretending too? I have a hunch they were, and my mother’s laughter at my parenting struggles suggests I might be onto something.
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Summary:
This article explores the author’s humorous and candid reflections on parenthood, revealing feelings of uncertainty and the realization that many parents may be winging it just like her. Despite initial aspirations of becoming a perfect parent, she finds herself navigating the chaos of family life while clinging to her individuality and pop culture interests.