The Mother Who Bakes Cookies: A Reflection on Parenthood

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I always envisioned myself as the quintessential mom who baked cookies. The kind of mother who greeted her kids with warm, gooey chocolate chip cookies waiting on the kitchen counter every day after school. Perhaps it was the influence of classic television shows that painted this idyllic picture. My dream was to create a perfect home—spotless, stylish, and filled with love, where I would also volunteer at school events, all while delivering those beloved cookies. That was the essence of my ideal motherhood.

Fast forward thirty years, and cookies are a rare treat in our household. They just aren’t the healthiest option. I no longer have kids coming home from school, as my journey as a schoolteacher shifted to homeschooling my own children. As for my once tidy house? Let’s just say it has seen better days. While I manage to stay somewhat presentable now that my kids are older, “fashionable” is a term that left my vocabulary long ago, likely when I crossed into my thirties, which also coincided with my belief that I’d be the patient, understanding parent—oh, how naive I was!

I’m not discontent with the choices I’ve made as a mother, but I often find myself a far cry from the mom I envisioned. Gazing in the mirror, I sometimes wonder about the woman I see. Who is she? How did she arrive here? And why is there a permanent furrow between her brows?

I once thought that with time and experience, I would become more patient and compassionate. Yet, paradoxically, I feel like I’m less equipped for this journey as the years unfold. My early days of parenting were filled with optimism as I devoured parenting books and earnestly applied their teachings.

Now, thirteen years and three kids later, I am exhausted. After navigating through the whirlwind of babyhood, toddler tantrums, and early childhood challenges, I naively expected that parenting would become easier. Instead, I’ve discovered that it merely transforms into different trials.

Make no mistake, I deeply cherish my children and genuinely enjoy motherhood. I wouldn’t be writing about it if I didn’t! The joys certainly outweigh the difficulties, but yes—I’m tired. Is this simply a reflection of my own limitations, or is it just the nature of parenting? Is it possible for parenthood to not take its toll after more than a decade? How many times can one calmly address whining or sibling squabbling before feeling like they’re about to lose it? How often can you suppress the frustrations of managing a household full of energetic children without feeling overwhelmed?

I realize I might be too hard on myself and the parenting journey. My perfectionist tendencies are likely influencing my perspective. This might just be a phase of discontent, which will undoubtedly be followed by a season of renewal. I’ve been on this path long enough to recognize the ebb and flow of parenting seasons. But, every winter feels interminable when you’re living it, doesn’t it?

Thirteen years have passed since my first child was born, and there’s another thirteen until my youngest turns eighteen. I’ve reached the midpoint on this journey of motherhood, and it feels like I started out with a backpack full of lofty ideals that have only grown heavier as the terrain has steepened. Gradually, I’ve had to let go of some of those ideals—farewell to the mom who never yells, goodbye to the mom who creates elaborate games, and adios to the mom who never resorts to using screens as babysitters. Even the mom who bakes cookies has had to take a backseat.

I can’t pinpoint why that “cookie mom” notion lingers in my mind. Maybe there’s a lesson to be learned. Perhaps it signifies that ideals are meant to evolve. Maybe those cookies symbolize the comfort and love I strive to provide my children, albeit without the excessive butter and sugar. Perhaps, like salt in a cookie recipe, a touch of idealism enhances the experience, but an overabundance can diminish the sweetness.

The mother I see in the mirror may not be the one who bakes cookies daily, but that’s perfectly fine. She is the mom who makes tough decisions for her kids. She prepares nutritious lunches, crafts delicious meals, mends scraped knees, and offers heartfelt apologies when necessary. She embodies flexibility and embraces adventure. She makes the most out of life’s challenges and knows how to bring laughter to her family, all while letting other mothers know they’re not alone on this journey. And yes, she still bakes cookies on occasion, simply because it brings joy to her children’s faces.

It’s amazing how a moment of reflection can shift your outlook. Suddenly, that daunting mountain doesn’t seem so intimidating, my metaphorical backpack feels lighter, and I think I can sense spring approaching.

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In summary, motherhood evolves and transforms, shaping us in unexpected ways. As we navigate the ups and downs, we learn that our ideals may shift, but the love and commitment we provide to our children remain steadfast.