The Kel Smith

I’ve been enjoying this blog for awhile now. I’ve linked to her before and, while the God stuff isn’t quite me, I really agree with her outlook. I appreciate her honesty of parenting. Of Motherhood.

Reading her latest entry, there was a phrase that really hit home for me:

And then, for the first time, you become concerned with how the juggling act you’re attempting to perform looks to the world. Am I doing it right? Am I saying the right things? Am I buying the right diaper bag, house, car, invitations? Are they wearing the right clothes? Am I? Do I appear to be enjoying motherhood enough???

I worry about that last question far more than I should. 

I have a friend who has a daughter a little younger than Audrey. When we get together the men commence to the living room to watch sports and we sit in the kitchen to sip wine. The girls run back and forth in between. My friend is great at putting everything on hold and plopping down on the kitchen floor for a game of paddy cake. Or to share a bowl of dry Cheerios. I am, instead, telling Audrey to go play because I am in the middle of adult conversation and (let’s be honest) most likely bitching about something that I have been holding in and waiting to tell a girlfriend. Or….(gasp!) I am in the middle of bitching about Audrey.

When we drive home after the visit I normally feel like the inferior mother. I stress about what it looks like to my friend - what I must seem like. I evaluate and seriously worry about how selfish I am. 

When I first had Audrey I went through some post-partum stuff. Someone asked me once, “So like you wanted to abandon her and give her away?” - NO. Post-partum for me was this immense pressure to be perfect, in every way possible. Such an immense pressure that I became paralyzed under it and only knew how to cry. 

My mom came to visit just before Christmas when Audrey was first born, Audrey was about six weeks old. I pulled myself together - failing in front of her was, well there was nothing worse. We had a nice visit and shopped some. Then while out at lunch, with Audrey sleeping in her car seat in the booth next to me, my mom asked me how I was doing. I said it was hard and I was tired…but I was fine. It was then my mom dropped a bomb on me that I will never forget.

“Oh. You don’t seem fine. You seem like a woman who hasn’t bonded with her baby and that’s just not normal. Are you sure you’re happy to be a Mom?”

The fear of how I look as a mom stops me from joining mommy groups. From being that mom at the doctor’s office that can just strike up conversations. From making other mommy friends. 

I’m pretty sure I am not a traditional mom. I am certainly not a “warm fuzzy” type. I love my daughter fiercely - don’t ever question that. But I am not normal at all.

This is, though, just one more thing with which I need to become comfortable. If I am going to stay home with Audrey yet make sure she is still socialized and well-rounded, then I need to get over my own crap and put myself out there.

There has got to be other mothers out there like me. Right?