I don’t enjoy motherhood.
They, whoever ‘they’ are, drilled it deep into me even as a child that motherhood is enjoyable. That there’s no greater calling, no better purpose, nothing more fun. Sure, they said it would be hard, they said it would be challenging and trying, but never did I expect the intense frustration and just terribleness motherhood sometimes is.
Now, don’t get me wrong- I am so in love with my baby Joy. She is the sweetest thing, and I love spending time with her and getting to know her personality. So far, she is OCD about her schedule and hates clothing, which is all pretty cute. But I digress.
But the job, the task of motherhood. That. I love, in theory, the idea of being a stay-at-home mom. I like day dreaming about my child and the finger painting we’ll do together, the visits to the park, reading bedtimes stories, etc- but in reality life is a lot, lot more mundane, more scheduled + exact then I ever thought it would be.
To be more specific, I hate the predictability. The schedule, the obvious chain of events, the lack of creativity my day holds, and I suppose some would say the responsibility. I miss being able to mix things up- to meet someone for coffee, to dedicate myself again to my passions. I greatly dislike feeling like a cow for 30 minutes multiple times a day, and holding a screaming baby that just won’t be soothed is pretty difficult as well. Life isn’t full of driving to the park type moments, and at this stage I’m lucky if we’re still doing round three of Itsy Bitsy Spider, let along finger painting.
I know, I know- I need to find joy and grace and purpose in the mundane. Don’t worry, I’ve bought multiple books that probably will repeat the same advice you’re kindly trying to give me. And I know that the days hold little moments that I can cherish, that make it all worth it. Sometimes I see them, and sometimes I don’t.
It’s all selfish, I suppose. And truly, I love being Joy’s mother – just not the actual process of parenting and scheduling. And I’m writing all this, really, just hoping that some can relate to the fact that I can’t find all of my joy, my ultimate calling, the completion of everything ‘Veronica’ inside of my child. I’m writing this for other mothers who struggle to enjoy the mundane every day – there’s nothing wrong with you, and you aren’t alone.
There’s something wonderful, for sure, about motherhood. And I envy the mothers who beam and claim they are in their glory days. “Surely THIS is what I was made for,” everything about them seems to say. And you know, maybe despite my impressions, there *isn’t* anyone like that (or am I completely out of touch?). Maybe we all need to come together and eat Ice Cream and just say me too.
I know I am doing a great work. I know there is purpose, there is reason for being a parent. I know the sacrifices I make daily are not in vain.
But it takes work, a lot of painful, intentional work, to recognize the little moments as big ones, the dull day-to-day as glorious, and parenting as enjoyable.
I’m getting there, I think. Relishing in the painfully long feedings, enjoying the bedtime routine/fight Joy and I share every night, and remembering and reminding myself that not only will this too pass, but one day, I’ll miss these little moments.