Updated: Aug. 21, 2015
Originally Published: April 22, 2014
I never quite became the mother I envisioned myself to be.
During my pregnancy with my twins, I eagerly anticipated the arrival of my first children, painting an idealistic picture of motherhood in my mind. I imagined cradling a soft, sweet newborn on each shoulder, feeling their gentle breaths against my neck. I pictured myself as a beacon of warmth, radiating the scent of cookies and sunshine while happily driving around, singing as tiny feet kicked joyfully. I dreamed of frolicking in sunny fields, braiding their hair, sharing secrets, and basking in mutual adoration. I thought I would embody Marmee from Little Women, but with better hair and cuter shoes.
Then reality hit.
Every parent knows the truth. If I’m singing in the car, it’s usually out of sheer desperation to drown out the noise of crying. Our adventures don’t often lead us to sunny fields, and attempting to braid my kids’ hair feels like an uphill battle. The demands of motherhood can be overwhelming. Most days, the thought of how much we adore each other gets lost in the exhaustion. Dinner? Cheerios will do. Baths? We can skip them again.
Yet, even in my bleary-eyed state, where tears of frustration often flow because it feels like no one listens, I still find myself daydreaming about motherhood.
In those rare quiet moments when the kids finally sleep (which seems to only happen when I’m exhausted), the idealized visions return. As I lie in bed at the end of a long day, I find myself hoping that tomorrow will be different—that I might wake up smelling like sunshine and share genuine moments of joy with my kids.
Motherhood is often filled with more challenges than sunny picnics or intimate whispers, but I believe we must still cling to that dream version of it. Perhaps it’s in our nature; it keeps us going, day after day. I know my kids are far from perfect, and I’m certainly no saint; yet, in fleeting moments, we reach that ideal.
When I kiss one of the twins goodnight, I’m often bone-tired, but then she takes my face in her hands, showers it with gentle kisses, and giggles. In that moment, I giggle too, and everything feels right.
When I pull a child onto my lap to tie a shoe, and she snuggles in, declaring, “I’m in my nest,” it fills my heart. The warmth of a little arm around my neck lingers, even amidst the chaos of a messy house, gooey clothes, and my longing for a break.
Some days, motherhood feels suffocating, and I can barely catch my breath. It’s a struggle to envision making it through the next hour, let alone the next eighteen years. You push through because you must, feeling like your life is just a series of poor choices and frustrating moments. It’s crucial to share these struggles with fellow parents and to be honest about them.
However, we also need to hold onto the idealized moments of motherhood. If we abandon that dream, fewer people might choose to have children. We’d live in a world where joy is scarce, filled with old folks wandering through a dull existence. So, even if those beautiful, romantic moments are rare—like fleeting rays of sunlight on a cloudy day—I will keep looking for them. They’re out there; I can feel it.
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Summary
Motherhood often diverges from the idealized image we create before becoming parents. The reality is filled with exhaustion, chaos, and challenges, yet those fleeting moments of warmth and joy remind us of the beauty in parenting. It’s essential to acknowledge both the struggles and the dreamlike aspects of motherhood to keep our spirits alive.