See, the mom in my head would wake up with a smile on her red lips, put on her cute little apron and tie her bandanna on and get to work. She would make heart shape pancakes with eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, orange juice and cookies or cupcakes. She would set the table with the pretty plates and flowers. She would talk to her toddler and 1 year old like they held the power of the universe in their words. The mom in my head would cover them in kisses and when they were finished let them eat as many cupcakes as they wanted. Then she would wash the dishes and take the kids outside to wander in the woods barefoot, even though it's raining. (It's absurd.. I know, such as this woman in my head, never the less..) She would show her kids all the interesting things. Then we'd go inside and warm up with hot coco with marshmallows and listen to music and dance. When the giggles from dancing had us in fits we'd fall out on the carpet till we caught our breath. Then we'd color and paint and sculpt and sprinkle glitter everywhere. We'd eat fruit and cheese and crackers for lunch and drink the fancy juice. Then when we were so full we would pile all the blankets in the house on the living room floor to watch Mary Poppins or The Secret Garden or A Little Princess, but we'd never see the end of those movies. Because we would fall asleep snuggled in each others arms and love. When we woke up we would greet each other with kisses and nose snuffles. After all the kisses in the world, each kid would be ready for some alone play time & mommy could do things she needed to do.. like laundry, work stuff, cleaning, catching up on tv or pinning on pinterest *cause it's a hobby..right?!* The mommy in my head would speak and everyone would listen out of love and respect. Everyone would be happy & the mommy would be too.
Sadly, the mommy in my head isn't real. As lovely as she sounds, she doesn't exist. And the reality is so much worse than that beautiful image I just painted. I'm ashamed of the mother that I am. The tantrums I throw. The limits of my patience don't allow me to become the warm, fuzzy mother I wish I was in my head. The awkwardness of my personality doesn't like for the kids to wallow a hole in me while I sit on the couch. Or follow me around every single second. Maybe it's because I'm not paying enough attention. Maybe it's because I'm not creating that dream world for them. I know this though, I try really hard. I want to be that mommy in my head. Not because I think she's super mom, but because she seems loving and kind. And her kids seem loving and kind and fun. Because that's how I want my kids to remember me...
I just want to be proud of the parent that I am, no amount of outside encouragement could convince me that I am a good mommy... because the mommy in my head is so much better. And the extents I go to compare myself to her are insane. I just want to raise honest, good hearted, kind, interesting, strong and compassionate children.
And I don't know how to do it.
