The following is a post of hers I read the other day. Reading it somehow made me feel sane. Even though I am yet to have this child I'm pretty sure I'll have moments like these. And again I just really appreciated the raw honesty of it all.
As a blogger/writer/whatever you want to call me as long as it’s nice, I get a lot of inspiration from other bloggers. What they say, what they’re feeling. When they’re strong enough to step forward, it oddly gives me a sense of strength. & AllisonO hit the nail on the head of something that’s been nagging at me for a long time now.
MOTHERHOOD IS NOT WHAT I WAS PREPARED FOR.
Do I regret becoming a mother? Absolutely not. But it’s not what I expected, not what I dreamed. In some ways, it’s fallen flat from my expectations. & I don’t even know WHAT those expectations were past a baby that snuggled into my neck & a few tears. Maybe it’s the PPD talking. Maybe that’s just the truth behind another lie of motherhood.
At first, I felt a lot of shame at this. Humiliation. Crippling anger at myself. When a commentor dared to say, “Face it, motherhood isn’t what you expected & you hate it & it’s your fault” (or something along those lines), I was ten seconds away from leaping through the computer & ripping her face off. I was OUTRAGED. HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT I WAS NOT PREPARED FOR MOTHERHOOD?! HOW DARE YOU, BITCH? YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE.
I was pissed. I’m still pissed that someone said it because even though I’m admitting it, it’s kind of like a nickname. It’s only okay when certain people say it. LIKE ME & NOBODY ELSE.
I was so not prepared for motherhood. & now that I’ve said it, I kind of hate myself. I’m supposed to LOVE motherhood & gush about how IN LOVE I am with my child. But as much as I love Harrison & love being a mother & feel this weird sense of I AM WOMAN, HEAR ME ROAR for growing this human being & keeping him alive for almost 8 months, I still feel like I was lied to by other mother’s.
It’s not that I thought it would be 24/7 picnics & skipping & lollipops & unicorns that fart magic fairy dust that makes puppies fly. But I didn’t think I’d have a baby that screamed at me all day. I didn’t think I’d have moments where I wished I could just put him in a cage with toys & walk away for an hour. I didn’t think I would wind up in the hospital being sedated to sleep. I didn’t think that I’d have so many moments where I just felt like, “OH MY GOD, I can’t do this anymore. I don’t WANT to do this anymore.”
So many mother’s want to moan about lack of sleep. Or spit-up in the hair. Or tripping over ugly toys. Yeah, it sucks to stump your toe on Fisher Price & it’s weird to wash green beans out of your hair. But why don’t we talk about the moments when we just don’t want to do it anymore?! Why do we keep lying & pasting on smiles & saying everything is perfect instead of just saying, “You know what? I love him. But last night while he was splashing in the tub, I just didn’t want to be there.”
It’s not that I had a particular place/thing that I wanted to be or be doing. But I didn’t want motherhood in that moment. The burden of bathing him, dressing him, OMG was that duck he has in his mouth Cloroxed from the time he shit the duck?! I didn’t want the waring, bittersweet feeling of laying him down at night, knowing I’ll oddly miss him while he sleeps but thankful that I get a moment of quiet. Sometimes, it’s just too much.
I’m sure you want me to say, “I didn’t want to be there, but there’s no where else I’d rather be” or something trite to end this. I wish I could. But that would continue the lie. Because I wasn’t prepared for this aspect of motherhood. & I don’t want anyone else to feel lied to.
Or alone in this feeling.