(so, i wrote this post and then i took it down after an hour. kind of feeling guilty and ungrateful and well, unmotherish. i had noticed my own mother had written an adorable comment--totally "getting it." but, i had already taken it down. then i get a call from her. "i am certain she is calling wondering if i took down the post because of her comment, " i thought, but i'm in the bath, so i don't answer. then, i get a call from her again, on another phone--which i had listed as my dad's. and i thought, "oh no, she is so worried she is having my dad call." so i got out of the bath and answered it. she asked what i was up to and i said, "you know, just taking a bath--let me get a towel." and we laughed about how motherhood is SO dang hard sometimes and this is coming from an amazing mother who has given me so complexes in my own motherhood--i mean i don't remember this woman ever friggin' raising her voice at me growing up. sheesh).
sometimes i wonder if i'm gut out for this stay-at-home mom gig.
i still remember a relief society activity when tim and i lived in our townhome. a few ladies were talking about this personality test and the occupations associated with different personalities.
did you know there is a personality that is a match for motherhood?
i remember feeling jealous that i didn't have that match.
i wondered how easy being stay at home mom and homemaker would be if it was actually a good match for me.
i also remember another mother, who i admire, who said something about "isn't being a mom so much fun?" and how she loved to think up ideas of how to run her family better.
and i nodded in disbelief, but i felt too ashamed to disagree.
you see, i just kind of muddle through it.
i like a lot of alone time.
and i don't care if the house is somewhat messy--except that i still have panicky feelings about people coming over or home.
and i also like to be WITH people.
i like projects.
and i don't think i'm good at managing little ones.
and it is hard to feel that i have value.
sure there are times.
i feel celestial and noble.
but there are times when i wish that somehow i could measure my value in it all.
more than the change in the dryer.
more than the savings on my receipt--which i only save because i've given out my life information for smith's to track. and no i shouldn't be shopping at smith's anyways, because they are overpriced--but it was close and i hate looking at ads or planning or anything that requires too much thought.
and no one really sees or cares what i do all day.
and some of the time i just feel like the only things that matter are the special pair of socks that has still not been washed.
or the dinner i have not cooked, again.
or the squishy radishes i threw out because cutting off the stems and washing them just seemed too hard.
i think that is why i detested blackmoore.
the main character dreamed of going to india.
and i got all itchy and angry reading it.
"don't tell me to want more"--i demanded with each increasing page.
"tell me i can be happy without india."
and at times i am.
i am grateful, oh so grateful.
most times.
but sometimes i'm not.
sometimes i'm angry at the could haves.
sometimes i want the india.
not the symbolic one either.
i want the big and grand.
and not the eternal in a gazillion years kind.
the right now kind.
because that might have been a better match for me.
and i worry my kids would have been better off with the woman who actually TESTED to be a mother.
and i didn't.
but i'm trying to fit myself to the right mold, to do what i feel is right.
and sometimes it's tight and my shoulders feel the sharp edges of the spaces that wasn't molded for me.
so i have to shave my bones down.
to fit.
and sometimes i resent it.
but then i feel awful for resenting it.
but mostly i just want to be GOOD at something.
in india.