The Kind Of Mother I Wanted To Be

Some nights, I sob myself to sleep...

Many evenings, I say I'm going to take a shower, just so I can break down and ugly cry where no one will hear me.
There are times when I feel such a heaviness in my heart...because I'm not the kind of mother I thought I would be.

I make crap choices and set a terrible example sometimes. I lose it in front of them. I show my ass.

I get upset when my almost 4 year old doesn't flush, and wipes her butt on the toilet seat. She knows better.

I get sad...and sometimes I check out. I get overwhelmed and struggle to meet my own expectations of myself.

I get tired. I get used. I get mad.

Nothing prepares you to be a mom. The love you feel blinds you. Raw, maddening love...impairs you. It is your driving force while also being the source of your anger and frustration... the love a mother feels for her children, is consuming. It is devastating.

The worry that comes with the love will depress you. It will eat at you, and feed off of you, and steal away your joy. Really, it's true. They bring so much light, but with that light also comes darkness, and fear. Fear that you're gonna mess them up...fear that you can't always protect them...
Children grow up. They do things, and think things that will scare the shit out of you. As they get older, there are times that it feels like they hate you.

It's tricky. When they're little...it seems so simple, but as they get older, it grows complicated. It's no longer just poop stains on the toilet seat.  They get their own ideals, and have their own desires...they have been studying you for years... what have they learned?

As a mother, I question everything I do, don't do, think about doing, and am yet to do.

The conviction....oh the conviction I feel.

The conviction that swells inside me for the gifts I have been given puts me smack-dab in the middle of a war. A war against myself...a war against other people in their lives. It's my job to ensure that they are prepared for battle...that they aren't wounded, or left behind.

The pain I feel when someone hurts them, shuns them, or steps out of their life... is not the kind of pain that is experienced with anything else in life. It is a pain that drives me to fight.

I am a warrior.

I didn't want to be a warrior mother though...

I wanted to be the kind of mother that was always happy.
That rose early in the morning,  to make her children a hearty breakfast and take them out to the

park. I wanted to be the kind of mother that was always fun and smiling and cheery.  I wanted to be wholesome. I never thought I'd grow up and have so many damn flaws. I try to get it together-- for their sake, but I fail, over and over and over again.
I never thought I would cuss in front of my children... or let them see me have a beer... or oh holy moly....drunk. 😏

I would make sure their needs were met before mine. I would never be selfish. We would take vacations, and long walks, and do crafts and projects and learn and grow together. I would be a wonderful example to them of who they should strive to be...a picture of kindness, humility, and respect towards others. I would never let them see me out-of-control. That's the kind of mother I wanted to be.

And some days, I am.

But other days, I lose sight of all that...I fail. I cuss the moron that cuts me off in traffic, while little heads jerk up and tune in to hear the filth that spews from my human mouth.  I cry... in front of them sometimes...I yell...
 because they just don't freakin' listen. Because I'm having a bad day...because I'm mean.
I break down, I decide to have a beer...sometimes, I smoke cigarettes. I have bad habits. I struggle to find the balance between motherhood and being a woman, with her own needs and desires.
 I lose my identity, and find that it lies with them, over and over again.

Some days...

There is a cloud over my head...and I fail at everything I'm supposed to be. I fail at being my husband's wife. I fail at being my kids' mom. I fail at being a woman. I fail at being anything other than a sad, confused, energy-drained, emotionally unstable--human.

But I always pick myself up. I learn. I say sorry. Some day, they might not forgive me...but for now, they do.
My kids need a real example of what it means to be human... they have seen my true colors, while also noting my character. Mom gets sad... but she picks herself back up. Mom gets mad...but she says she was wrong and she's sorry. Mom was so fun and awesome today, and she's happy she made us happy. Mom doesn't like fu**$%! morons who endanger our lives and cut us off in traffic. Mom likes beer sometimes.

Mom--is more than a mom. Mom is vibrant and colorful...Mom is always pursuing something new. Mom tries hard. Mom works hard...she loves us, and fights for us...and never stops loving us.

Maybe I'm not the kind of mother I wanted to be...but as it turns out, my kids love their emotional, prideful, stubborn, sometimes potty-mouthed, beer-drinking mama anyways. Hopefully when my girls become moms, and my little guy becomes a dad, they will think back and remember how human mom was, and be comforted by that fact.

All I know, is that I love the little boogers, and they love me. We are real people, who live and learn and grow together... and in my book, that is what being a family is all about. This is the kind of mother I am. It's never official. I am ever-changing and striving to improve.

I'm not the kind of mother I wanted to be. She was made up anyways... to be her, I'd need a Xanax prescription, and something much stronger than the occasional beer. 😉  

Give yourself grace fellow mamas. ♡