Parents, I want to tell you that I know how much you love your children. I also know how much you impose guilt on yourself for the way you parent. I know every parent is doing their best to navigate the role of parent. I know because I am a parent. I want to share the following essay I wrote in order for no one to feel alone in their parenting struggle as we love our children with every bone of our being. Thank you for being an amazing parent. I’m Not the Mom I Thought I Would Be
By Kristin Dungan Before having children I planned to stay home, retired at age 27. I envisioned loving every moment of my time with 4 darlings. I loved children! We would spend beautiful days outside exploring nature, digging in the dirt, riding bikes, and swinging high. Teaching them. Child #1 actually had me thinking, “I am a great mom!” She slept six hours a night when six weeks old. She entertained herself while I cooked dinner for my hard working husband every night. We took naps together. We read books, took walks, went swimming. #1 and I even went to choir practice together. She never fussed. But then reality slapped me in the face when #2 came along, thirteen months to the day after sweet #1. Our morning walks were not peaceful. Child #2 screamed the entire time. It didn’t matter if she was on her back in the stroller, sitting up, in her carseat, in my arms or a sling or a backpack. She screamed. She cried all the time, wouldn’t sleep, had to be held constantly, and then cried some more. I lost it. I walked away from my children, impatient. I vacuumed so I couldn’t hear the screaming. I stepped outside to check the mail or water the flowers to get away. I’m not the mom I thought I’d be. At bath time my back ached, my knees hurt, I rushed the kids. I didn’t enjoy it. I’m not the mom I thought I’d be. We would go to the park and they wanted me to push them over and over and over and over again. All I wanted to do was sit and watch. I’m not the mom I thought I’d be. I was no longer this sweet, glowing, young mom. I was angry, tired, impatient, frustrated. I couldn’t wait to get away in the evenings. Although, I still had occasional hints of wanting #3. That is until potty training began! Three consecutive years of wet clothes, wet sheets, wet carpet, wet car seats…I was done! The mom I thought I’d be would teach them to read, to love books, and the take them to the library once a week. But in reality, the library meant everyone getting dressed with shoes on, buckling in the car, and leaving the house. The mom I thought I’d be would go to the pool everyday and splash around. But in reality, it meant sunscreen, hats, water shoes, snacks, showers, and combing through tangled hair. The mom I thought I’d be would teach them to ride bikes. But in reality, it meant helmets and knee pads. It meant I was too out of shape to run alongside the bike. It meant falls, scraped knees, sweating, and flat tires. The mom I thought I’d be would go to the park to play with the children. But in reality, the park meant climbing on ladders and through tubes too small for an adult. It meant constant, “Look at me!” “Push me!” It meant kicking the ball back and forth, but me having to chase the ball every time because the kids always let it roll past them, or they kicked it in the wrong direction. I wondered what happened to the mom I thought I’d be. Even when I took off the rose colored glasses, being a mom was horrible. I didn’t like being home. I didn’t like feeling used or taken advantage of by my husband and children. There was no fun, no joy, and no fulfillment. Sometimes I almost felt criminal for these thoughts. Now, as mom with an empty nest, I can look back and see I didn’t seek support form others. I didn’t have anyone around to tell me I was normal. I needed someone to say it was ok to not like my kids all the time. I am glad I can now share with moms, “You are not alone.” I want them to know it is ok to not be the mom you thought you’d be, but to stay connected with others through Bible study, play groups, moms groups or therapy to get through the early years. I gave up, thinking I wasn’t good enough to be a mom. I put the kids in daycare and went back to work to escape. I did begin to enjoy the time with my children again, the frustration and impatience faded. But I had already recorded the damaging record in my mind, “I’m not a good mom. I failed as a mom.” The record replayed over and over for years. I do love my children, and always have, just like all moms. All moms have hopes and dreams for their children. All moms want their kids to be happy. But sometimes we can’t see the love we share with our children because we are overwhelmed with all that children demand. When my 16 year old curls up next to me on the couch and rests her head on my shoulder, I know I am a good mom. When my child says, “Thanks Mom, you are incredible,” I know I am a good mom. I’m not the mom I thought I’d be, but in hindsight, I don’t think I would want to be that mom. I’m a flawed mom who has done everything I have known to express love to my children and raise them well. And that is enough.
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April 2020
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