I've come to the realization that I am tired.
Soooooooo tired. You?
This summer has completely worn me out. I'm pissy, and come 3:37PM or so, I wish I could quietly extract myself from my house. And lock myself in a hyperbaric chamber somewhere. Until at least after bedtime and preferably until the next morning.
I wish things like filling out school papers didn't feel like the end of the world. I wish it were easier to smile these days. I wish my eyes didn't feel like one extra-long blink would seal them shut for 8 hours. I wish I could afford a full-time nanny like the people across the street whose nanny stays until 6PM and works Saturdays. They just had another baby, like, yesterday. I wonder if they'll get another nanny? (They should. And a cook.)
I need to say this just to get it out there because this is what I do:
I work. And I take care of two small and impossibly cute and charming little girls all day. I do two full-time jobs.
Like you.
I cook and try to keep the house mostly clean and I do the laundry. I water the plants. I make snacks. I grocery shop. I'm the one that has to keep track of the fact that we're out of bodywash, cereal, and garbage bags.
I wish my brain wasn't just a repository for mundane and tedious details. I wish I had the space to think about more enjoyable things. I wish I didn't have to nag so much. At everyone.
I shuttle to sports camp and gymnastics and I don't remember driving there or back because my mind is full up with work or household management issues.
I do what so many other women do—what most of my friends do—and when I think about how hard it is and how tired and frustrated we all are, it's a wonder we continue to do it day after day. Why haven't we run away from home yet?
Who wants to join my pity party?
Last night I finally picked up a book that the lovely Sk*rt folks were passing out at BlogHer. I took it politely and then shoved it to the bottom of my swag bag and knew I would never ever read it. (Chick lit. Hmph.) But last night, I cracked it open to a page that said this:
After having kids, I missed having control over my day. I know it might sound selfish, but that's how I felt. Every day I felt defeated...keeping the house clean, feeding the kids, getting birthday party gifts, serving dinner, bathing the kids...And my husband expects me to be happy. So I just be with my kids, don't complain, and try and feel lucky.
—Lori/2 children, Los Angeles, CA
And I thought, "Wow. There are lots of days that I feel exactly like that, too."
Now to be fair, J. does a lot. He is Mr. Bath and Bedtime routine. He is the middle-of-the-night-go-getter. He is quick to offer support when I need it. He encourages me to take "me" time. He takes the kids out for adventures on weekends and, best of all, the housekeeper was his idea.
Unlike Lori, J. doesn't expect me to be shiny and happy all the time. And unlike Lori, I like to complain. Maybe too much.
When I feel overwhelmed J. is the first person to tell me to lower my expectations. He doesn't care, so why is it so hard for me to do it? I do feel like I have no control over my day. And lots of days I do feel defeated. I've never thought of it that way before, but I do.
Then I read this:
- As mothers, we put way too much pressure on ourselves.
- We have an unrealistic image of what a "good" mom is.
- We secretly compare ourselves to other moms, who seem to have it all together.
- We think we need to be perfect all the time.
- We feel alone.
- Our lives feel out of balance.
And then:
- What happened to the people we were before we became moms?
- Why did our marriages change when we became parents?
- Why, no matter what choice we make, do we constantly feel that we've made the wrong one?
- Why do we feel guilty all the time?
- How come nobody talks about how hard motherhood truly is?
So...yeah.
Now, to take the last point on first, people are talking about how hard motherhood truly is. There's a whole blog genre devoted to it, and moms, we need to keep talking. And talking and talking. We need to continue being honest with ourselves and each other so we can make motherhood better. Whatever that means to you.
People pick on mommybloggers for so many reasons: we're too depressing, we shop too much, we're whiny and self-absorbed, our lives aren't so bad so why don't we just STFU and stop complaining?
I say, do what you gotta do to get the word out, girl. I like commiserating just as much as celebrating when good things happen. It's easier to be nice.
As I read through the lists above it reminds me that other mothers are thinking about these things, too. And that maybe, if they are like me, life cruises along for awhile until you hit a wall and realize you have choices to make.
Work, for one, is going to be scaled way back. And it will be done on my terms. I'm going to be choosier about how I spend my freelance time. I will control what I can control and not worry about what I can't.
I know what I need, too.
I have never been one to be defeatist (or defeated) so I'm going to carefully consider the above, finish the book, then pass it along. And somehow, along the way, I hope it becomes easier to be more joyful, sillier. Instead of every once in awhile. Like I used to be. Like I know I can be again.
My little bugs deserve a more full and present mother so that if they choose to be mothers someday they will be able to full and present, too. Who would want their daughters to feel this way?
Anyone else ready to make a change?
excerpts from: I Was a Really Good Mom Before I Had Kids: Reinventing Modern Motherhood
by Trisha Ashworth, Amy Nobile.
