I Love Being a Mom: Just Don't Ask Why
Motherhood. It starts so lovely. There is a party with cake and favors and pink balloons. Then someone comes up with a dumb game about nursery rhymes or the colors of baby poop, and your closest family and friends “oooh” and “ahhh” over the sweetest little clothes you’ve ever seen. (Of course, they are only there because you went to their baby shower and they don’t want to be talked about at the next family reunion or office party. It’s called mommy payback, which is similar to the “eye for an eye” concept but it’s “a present for a present” thing. And we keep track.)Next comes childbirth, which is kind of gross but beautiful, and then…voila, you’re in the club. No fees, no by-laws and no training. The great thing about it is that there are books, magazines and blogs all dedicated to understanding motherhood. They talk about how to be a better mom, a less-guilty mom, a time-saving mom and mom with a tighter butt.
But where are the articles that explain being a mom? The ones that could translate what we really want and don’t want from life. I mean, there are millions of articles explaining the misconceptions of marriage but where are the ones that say it’s okay to not like making dinner every night until you die? Where does it say that it’s okay to not find your life’s meaning or purpose in doing three loads of laundry a day and loading dish after dish into the never-ending water box next to your sin?
I want my kids to understand me. I want men to accept me. I love being a mother to my kids but that doesn’t mean I love serving them, that I yearn for them to soil clothing throughout the week for my big 10-load payoff by the weekend, or that I secretly love putting them to bed while screaming “teeth, pajamas and bedtime!” at the top of my lungs for an hour while I toil over the carnage left from dinner.