I love being a mum, it’s what I’ve always wanted. Ever since I was a little girl whenever anybody asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up the answer was simple “a mummy“. Now all my dreams have come true and I have two wonderful boys who I love more than life itself. Yet, some days parenting is hard and I struggle to be a good mother, I struggle to be an OK mother.
Not in the sense that I struggle with the physical act of being a mother but the emotional impact it has. The guilt that is heaped on me with every decision I make. The questioning. The wondering if I am messing it all up. The pressure to be perfect.
The fact that the responsibility for their care is in my hands, their wellbeing, their future. How you are never really able to switch off.
Parenting is hard…
When all they do is fight, when the two year old launches into his “Littlest the Aggressor” role and throws himself at his big brother pulling his hair. When the four year old lashes back at him.
When my throat is hoarse from shouting over them, from shouting at them, from shouting to them. Even when I know shouting doesn’t work and then have to contend with the mum guilt from shouting.
When I feel as though I haven’t had a moment’s peace all day and seek solitude in the toilet, and still they find me.
When they won’t sleep.
When they sleep when they aren’t meant to.
When they make a mess everywhere when I’ve asked them not too.
When I can’t understand what they want, what they need, why they are sad.
When I am so tired I can’t think straight, and they’re just as tired.
The days that I feel that I am not a good mum, that I’m not even a good enough mum. Where my attention is divided between them both and everyone is crying. Even me.
I judge myself. I come out poorly in every aspect of motherhood.
I struggle to make sense of what I am doing, why I am struggling with these two wonderful boys.
But yet, I only struggle on the bad days. The fighting days. The days where I forget that they are human too. That bad attitudes and grumpiness is par for the course for everyone.
Then I cry.
I moan to my husband, my friends, my mum.
I pick myself up, dust myself down and give myself a little pep talk.
I remember that everybody struggles at times, that everything you do has it’s ups and downs. I remember the times working in the bank that had me screaming in frustration, the days that I wanted to hand my notice in and crawl under a tabble until everybody left me alone.
It’s normal. For everyone. In everything.
Struggling is normal. It makes me human not a bad mother.
And then, when I think I can’t take anymore the little moments happen. A switch is flicked from “my children are possibly the most irritating creatures in the whole entire world” to “how am I so lucky to have created such beautiful children”
Despite what you see on Facebook, parenting isn’t all about the #blessed moments. Nor is it about the comedy of errors.
It’s a balance.
And that’s OK. Parenting is hard. We are all doing our best.