Don't Be So Hard on Yourself, Mama

I started this blog with the confession that I hated motherhood, followed by an intention to commit to forty days of trying to love it. It's been forty days.

So... do I love motherhood now?

Well, I like it a lot more than I did before.

This morning, while changing my son's diaper (typically one of the EASIER parts of parenting, by the way) a hard, round poop rolled out the diaper and onto the changing table. As I reached for another baby wipe to scoop it up, I bumped my head, HARD, on an open cabinet door and my son squirmed, kicking the poop with his heel. Frustration erupted with a loud “fuck!”— I couldn’t help myself. “Buck!” My 19-month-old parroted. The poop rolled to the floor. Just then, my daughter wandered round the corner, asking for oatmeal. I told her (a little too sternly) that she would have to wait, and she began to whine and cry, while... oh shit... walking towards us. “Don't step in the poop!" I yelled hysterically. "DON'T STEP IN THE POOP!!" Her crying increased.

Forty days ago, I might have started crying with her. Today, I got a hold of myself and managed to laugh. Motherhood is not my dream job and most likely it never will be. But I’ve learned that I can rise to the challenges, that I have more strength than I previously thought. However, I could only come to this realization by being completely honest about my feelings. Which, forty days ago, were pretty dark.

Now my intention is to be honest and carry on. And most importantly, to not be so hard on myself. Yesterday, I was sitting outside with the kids, ruminating on the terrible mess that is our backyard, and this quote popped into my head.

"Count your blessings, not your problems."

I tried to pull out of my negative state of mind and focus on the fact that I have two healthy children, a roof over my head (never mind that it leaks… we’re in a drought here in CA, we'll be fine) a supportive husband who does laundry (never mind that the laundry is endless and even with his help, overwhelming). I tried to count my blessings, but it didn't work. I had been up since 5am, and I was too damn tired to be grateful. Inspirational quotes are nice, except when they make you feel bad for failing to live up to their demands.

I've come a long way, but that doesn't mean I'm supposed to be jumping for joy every moment of the day. Parenting is exhausting. Don’t be so hard on yourself, I said to myself. You're only human. If you're too tired to do it now, you can count your blessings later. And I did.

Later, my son said "choo choo train" and it was so cute my heart nearly exploded— that was an easy blessing to count. When the kids got restless, I performed a half hearted puppet show with a storyline so weak it would break if exposed to adult ears. My kids ate it up as if it deserved an Academy Award. I must be a good mom, I thought.

As you go about your daily struggles, typically there is no one to notice how hard you're working and what a great job you’re doing and tell you it's okay if you mess up once and a while (or a lot). No one, except you. So, give yourself a pat on the back, a gold star, a complement and a free pass as often as you can. Be kind to yourself, and hang in there.

I'm pretty sure this applies not just to mothers, but to all human beings, by the way.

So, this is where I am, forty days later. Happier, but still struggling and still aiming to grow. Hanging in there, like so many of us.