I got a big kick out of this, as shared by a friend on Facebook.
Today I've been thinking about my ideals pre-motherhood and how they have translated into real life, as inspired by Linda Eyre's book I Didn't Plan to Be a Witch. Lets just say they can be summed up in four people, when you dive down deep enough: my mom, my dad, Maria vonTrapp, and the sort of fuzzy soft idealized mother handed down by our culture as represented in Peter Pan. And lets face it, my church had a lot to do with inspiring me, both with words and actual examples of real life amazing mothers (one biggie for me was seeing the inside of some incredible women's homes in Dallas as a missionary...they really inspired me). But that is another post.
How did I arrive at these four pillars of ideal mothering? I suppose I picked little ideas like flowers as a child and stored them away for later. Speaking of flowers. One early memory that inspired me involves my dad. I remember on a walk home from church he showed me the little green shoots of new flowers peeping up through soft piles of wet brown dirt. Right then and there I cemented an idea in my head, about the kind of parent I wanted to be. As a mom I was going to go on nature walks with my kids and point out all the little things that normally go unnoticed when whizzing by in a car. On a different occasion, on a warm summer night, we played kick-the-can with all the cousins. I have to tell you, I thought that was the coolest thing ever, that a grown-up would stoop to the level of acting like a kid and having fun at it! I promised myself I'd play with my kids.
My mom taught me how to read from a young age. She helped me through all those things I didn't realize I'd need later in life. ("B flat!") She was sort of the backbone in our family, keeping things together, structured, and organized. She was the engine, too. The one that kept things running. And the one who made our home so inviting and sweet-smelling and home-like. And for being my cheerleader. Now that I'm a mother, I appreciate my mother a thousand fold as I recognize all those unheralded invisible things she did for me that have become such a big part of who I am. Again I secretly decided I'd like to to teach my kids to read at a young age and I'd like to wrap garlands around the banisters at holiday time and go to all my kids games. (Trying to be my mother and my father has been kind of a problem for me at times, that is another post!)
Then Julie Andrews, ahh, Julie Andrews. When you sang "Raindrops on Roses" and washed Liesel's dress without telling and made play clothes out of your old drapes and played your guitar in the wagon and swung from trees and sang Doe a Deer, I knew exactly what kind of mother I wanted to be. Loving, fun, kind. Someone who made kids happy and made them feel like a million bucks. And yes, I kind of idealized that big, happy family and secretly wished for one just like it some day.
Being a mother, and a really good one, became an unspoken passion for me. Even a couple of months ago, for example, at a family dinner, some teenagers sort of lightheartedly asked what we'd all like to be when we grow up. And, honestly, I've been down this motherhood road now for a while, there are no more delusions, but as I searched deep in my soul I realized I still see motherhood as my ideal career. After that, I think I would be an oceanographer. Or a kindergarten teacher. Or a war correspondent. Things I wouldn't have chosen way back when.
Sorry I talk so much.
So, when I envisioned this beautiful (thanks Julie and mom), sing-songy, playful, patient, kind, smart, empathetic mother that I wanted to be, I did not in fact envision a few things. Here is my short (ha!) list:
1) Wiping little booger-y noses on the underside of my shirt. Lets just say this happens frequently.
2) So much exposure to bodily fluids you must might say I have a minor in HASMAT bodily fluid clean-up, at least a merit badge, from cleaning vomit from all sorts of surfaces, puddles big and small, poop from the carpet and other assorted places, and blood. I never saw how some of these things would be so commonplace that I would barely flinch while dealing with them (and others would stare me down, willing me to go ahead and clean them up, no matter how experienced I'd become). Like the time my son impaled his head on a jutting rock while we were shopping and I didn't even think, I grabbed a soft pink baby blanket and stuck it right on his profusely bleeding head, held it on there while holding a baby on the other hip with others following behind, a crowd of onlookers staring at us as we trailed into the bathroom to handle our little emergency (he ran into a rock pillar while he was looking backward watching for a fountain to go shoot off; my husband called him "geyser"-- which is what my son said he was craning his neck to see-- so cute-- in jest for a little while after this incident) .
3) Speaking of number 2, I never thought I would show so much interest in the contents of my baby's diapers. Never thought I'd examine that stuff like a biologist studying a foreign specimen.
4) Never pictured myself frumpy or overweight. Not only being out of style, but actually being unaware of what the current styles even are (or figuring them out too late! hey, on a positive note, I just learned yesterday that my bushy eyebrows, which I sort of secretly agonize over, are now in fashion! Thank you, world! For saving me some time and pain and anguish!). Or putting in a ponytail for the 7th day in a row because it is most functional.
5) I never figured, as a twenty-something movie goer, I that some day I wouldn't have a clue as to what the latest movies are.
6) On the flip side, I never pictured myself telling someone enthusiastically about the latest Disney movie or Little Einstein or Diamond Castle movie. Ditto on books like "Children Make Terrible Pets." (and wondering why grown adults weren't acting as excited as I felt!)
7) Having a mental list of all the pros and cons of local parks or museums. Or knowing which locales are stroller friendly or toddler friendly.
8) Never saw myself eating whole pans of brownies, or for that matter, all my kids leftovers, even, gross, ones that have been in their mouth (not often, but it does happen!).
9) Never pictured myself giving up sleep to get a little alone time.
10) Never pictured myself giving up alone time to get some sleep.
11) I never saw myself as "that mom" with the weeds, the dirty house, and the stinky car. Probably the one thing on this list that truly distresses me some days. (Should I add to the list-- fantasizing about sleep or a clean house! Or even just fantasizing about being alone for five minutes, even if it is just to go to the bathroom or shower)
12) I never in a million years would have figured that trips to the dentist would become a secret get-away time that felt, lets just admit it right now-- luxurious-- because all I have to do is lie there!
12) My inability to properly discipline my children (remember those days when you vowed "that will never be my child!" hmmmmm). Or all the times I would "conveniently" look away because now is just not a convenient time.
13) The martyr-me who cannot ask for help and who eventually retreats into a good book or sugar or some good old fashioned celebrity gossip when times get tough.
14) The beautiful vision of getting up in the night in my flowing white nightgown to comfort my frightened or sick children gives way to a blurry, disheveled, one-eye-open-harsh-croaking voice chortling "get back to bed!"
15) Choosing clothes based on function rather than fashion. Like a good pair of tennis shoes.
16) The depths to which you lower your pride when having a baby. (how about after my second child, throwing up twice, losing a ton of blood and being so weak that the nurses had to dress and undress me, and later give me a bath. Does it get much worse than that?) All pride goes out the window. And all modesty (like, how about learning how to nurse for the first time? people act like your "girls" are just an artifact to be passed around as they try to figure out how to make those things work.)
17) Never thought I'd say "because I said so." This is a parental hand-me-down for a reason.
18) Never pictured what I was missing in my life before wet wipes. Or how casual I'd be about some germs because I had that good old standby ready.
19) Never pictured myself using "that" voice-- you know, the non-Julie Andrews one, the one that says, "I'm about two seconds away from strangling you and I am doing all I can to restrain myself."
20) The whisper shout. Or the death stare. Or snapping at someone, literally or verbally.
21) Calling my husband "dad." (I swore I'd never do this one!)
22) The disgusting car seat. Enough said.
While some of these things are just funny, and others would have distressed me 20 years ago, I feel I have a more mature perspective now. I realize not knowing who is the hottest actor in Hollywood or wearing tennis shoes or taking a shower at 5pm doesn't really matter all that much (though some truly are a little distressing, or a lot distressing, like the stinky thing or the overweight thing, no matter what I tell myself about beauty being on the inside).
(Yes those beauties over there are my legs, while pregnant this last time around. Never in a million years pictured that, or how much it would hurt!)
So how do you handle the little disconnects from reality in your life? I loved Linda Eyre's perspective in her book I Didn't Plan to Be a Witch, where she humorously recounts the differences between her preconceived notions about motherhood and real-life reality, laced with practical, down-to-earth parenting advice. I loved seeing her life from the outside. The times when she lost her patience, I was quite amazed she hadn't lost it bigger and sooner (this blessed woman had nine children! And the days she quote, unquote "lost her patience" she was so busy trying to be a good mother!)! And seeing that her kids turned out so wonderfully, in spite of times that must have felt crazy and un-idealistic to her, and in spite of all the areas she felt she had fallen short.
It's okay to stand face-to-face with that demon reality and look him square in the eye. It's okay to come face-to-face with our preconceptions as well, to see just how funny they really are sometimes! I'm sorry Julie Andrews, you are just not realistic 24/7. But that doesn't mean that I need to give up on that ideal. Or that I need to quit dreaming about the mother I want to be when I grow up. I just need to see that this world is an imperfect place, my kids are imperfect, accidents happen, so does crazy weather or no sleep or grumpy days. And then I pick myself up and have a good laugh and try harder tomorrow.
And lastly, for me, seeing the good things I do and the good things that have come to me that I similarly never pictured pre-parenthood.
That moment, when my first child was being born, the nurses had asked me if I wanted to reach down and touch his head (so sorry if this is TMI, you are learning things about me you never wanted to know). Just a few weeks before this, my husband and I were watching a video in our birthing class (lets just say one father-to-be was so shocked he let out a very memorable expletive). I was mortified when the nurse in the video asked the laboring mother if she wanted to touch her baby's head as it crowned. I thought I would never be that woman, ick. Keep the mirrors and cameras and bystanders away and don't ask me to touch my baby's head. But there in that hospital room, surrounded by a loving doctor and nurse and my dear spouse (and even a bystander! I never cease to surprise myself) in a situation I thought I would find horrifically embarrassing, I surprised myself by saying "yes." That moment, which had really started months before when I heard that little galloping heart that mirrored my own, pulled the most powerful emotion I'd feel in this life to the surface. He was almost here! My child! (also thinking-- after all the nausea and growing belly for nine months, he is not a figment of my imagination! lol) Whom I'd already learned to love and protect and sacrifice for. Almost here to meet me. I was overwhelmed and started to cry! And so did everyone else in the room. No weird, no ick, my little boy, after nine long months, was here and he was worth it.
How do you describe that to your your twenty something self? You will hurt worse than you ever have in your life, you will waddle around like a duck and not be able to go more than 20 minutes without going to the bathroom, later you'll be up in the middle of the night changing a onesie covered from head to toe in golden brown deliciousness, and yet it is the most magical experience of your life. All those little pains and inconveniences and not knowing who Robert Pattinson is (or thinking whoop-de-doo, if you are me, sorry Twilight fans), these burdens suddenly become as light as a feather when you have that little child who trusts you and loves you no matter what. To whom you are now that Peter Pan mother. That golden aura mother who they will learn to love more than anyone else, no matter how famous or powerful or rich. That moment when everything switches from your own needs to choosing to put someone else's needs first. Because you actually want to.
(LOVE those first smiles meant just for me!)
That little person will capture your heart and you will never get it back. You'll see past boogers into a little soul that needs you and loves you unconditionally and makes your heart feel something you never knew you'd feel. Someone you're willing to go to the moon and back for, slip out of bed at night even though sleep is so precious, just to watch their chest rise and fall softly in the dark; worrying about them while they are in school or at a friends or in someone else's car, reaching through the air with your thoughts as if you can somehow distantly wrap protective arms around them; going without something for yourself in order to give them that special birthday present, learning opportunity, or cute pair of jeans; feeling as if your heart were walking around outside your body; going to great lengths to hear them laugh or make them smile; taking time away from something for yourself in order to do something for them; save little scrawled drawings in piles in your basement; smell those little onesies just to drink in that baby smell while baby is napping; try to still your heart as I fold tiny ruffled shirts, tied to so many memories, and close them into a large box forever; cry when I put away the little bassinet, even though I hated that darn thing (my babies never slept well in it); or have an ever-lovin' breakdown when my husband suggested recently that we get rid of some of the baby things we no longer need.
They are worth it. Every bit. Maybe it doesn't look so great on the outside, but there is nothing that beats it on the inside.
So while I am not always singing Doe a Deer in a beautiful dress in the Alps every day to my adoring, smiling, well-dressed children, there are things I do that I never pictured myself doing that are good. I love them with a fierce love I could never express. I have sacrificed for them and hurt for them and wiped their boogers on my shirt. And it was worth every stinkin' minute.
(never pictured some of the stuff I'd save or take pictures of, either!)
