Sofia is 2 years and nearly 3 months old now. Keeping a journal is something I've been meaning to do for about 2 years and nearly 3 months + 9 months now. I wonder if my hesitance in writing is directly related to my hesitance in embracing the whole motherhood thing. Like if I start writing about it, then I'm actually going to have to, you know, be a mother. Its weird because even after all this time, when I think of a mother or mom or mama, I think of my mom. I think of all my friends' moms. I think of my aunts. My teachers. The lady at the grocery store pushing her kids around in the cozy coupe shopping cart hybrids. The woman at the playground. The girl pushing the stroller down the street. The last person I think of is myself. Which is odd. Growing up I think I always was pretty good with babies. I was married for 10 years before Sofia came along and I'm pretty sure anyone you asked would have told you I was great with kids, especially babies. I was often accused of "mothering" my little brother who is 13 years younger than me. And I liked to think of myself as a "mother" figure to lots of young girls in my congregation. Or maybe a really cool, mature, but approachable older sister. Either way, deep down, I always thought I was born to be a mother. And if my husband and I weren't going to have our own kids, then I would use my special talents to benefit and bestow upon other kids and babies. And I just knew that if, by some miracle or chance, I ended up pregnant, it would be the most natural and easiest adaptation for me to make. I would be thrilled at the prospect of throwing myself whole heartedly into being the most amazing mother in the world. Of course I would imitate the admirable things my own mother had instilled upon me as a child, but shun and sagely avoid all the pitfalls and mistakes she had made with me. I had spent so much time observing other parents and children that I had amassed a wealth of knowledge and "real life experience" in all my time being childless. Plus I was 13 when my brother was born. Practically an adult. So I had plenty of experience taking care of a baby and wouldn't have trouble caring for my own baby when the time came (19 years later).
There were lots of times in our 9 years of marriage when I thought I might be pregnant. I had taken plenty of pregnancy tests, holding my breath, secretly hoping it'd be positive. Daydreaming of some pinterest-ey way to tell my husband. But when I was a few days late, had recently burst into tears when I was told at Sephora that they sold out of the Naked palette I had my eye on, and had sore boobs, I didn't feel giddy with excitement. I felt sinking dread. When I brought the pregnancy test into the bathroom at home, I could barely bring myself to read it. When I read the single word "pregnant" on the tiny screen I kind of felt like puking. You get the idea.
I was all talk. I could talk the talk about being a mom, but I could not walk the walk. And now, 2 years and nearly 3 months later, I'm not very good at talking the talk or walking the walk. At least that's the way I feel. I feel like I've failed. At everything. I don't do Montessori sorting of shapes and letters. I have no sensory bins. I use Netflix as a babysitter to occupy Sofia when I want to get anything done. From taking a shower to doing the dishes to catching up on facebook. Sofia's not potty trained. Even though at 18 months she was pooping and peeing at random times on the potty. Now I'm too lazy to vigilantly watch her facial expressions and "catch" her pooping and stick her on the potty. Sofia doesn't really speak any Portuguese. She speaks in complex English sentences and can recite word for word lots of songs and rhymes. But somehow I didn't think she was "ready" to learn Portuguese yet. It is a battle every bath time to wash her hair. So I don't always do it. Sometimes I just put a wet facecloth on her hair at the end of her bath and call it a day. I could go on and on. There are just so many failures.
At least, that's what it feels like. It feels like I haven't done any of the things I thought I would as a mom. I'm not the mom I thought I would be. So that leaves me here, wondering. If I'm not that mom, then which mom am I? Is it too late to start a journal? Is it too late to start a baby book? Can't I just look through my instagram account if I want to know when she said her first word or took her first step?
My answer is no. Its not too late to start. And if I'm going to start, then I just have to start. Anywhere. With anything. Starting now is better than starting a year from now. So this is me. I'm starting.
There were lots of times in our 9 years of marriage when I thought I might be pregnant. I had taken plenty of pregnancy tests, holding my breath, secretly hoping it'd be positive. Daydreaming of some pinterest-ey way to tell my husband. But when I was a few days late, had recently burst into tears when I was told at Sephora that they sold out of the Naked palette I had my eye on, and had sore boobs, I didn't feel giddy with excitement. I felt sinking dread. When I brought the pregnancy test into the bathroom at home, I could barely bring myself to read it. When I read the single word "pregnant" on the tiny screen I kind of felt like puking. You get the idea.
I was all talk. I could talk the talk about being a mom, but I could not walk the walk. And now, 2 years and nearly 3 months later, I'm not very good at talking the talk or walking the walk. At least that's the way I feel. I feel like I've failed. At everything. I don't do Montessori sorting of shapes and letters. I have no sensory bins. I use Netflix as a babysitter to occupy Sofia when I want to get anything done. From taking a shower to doing the dishes to catching up on facebook. Sofia's not potty trained. Even though at 18 months she was pooping and peeing at random times on the potty. Now I'm too lazy to vigilantly watch her facial expressions and "catch" her pooping and stick her on the potty. Sofia doesn't really speak any Portuguese. She speaks in complex English sentences and can recite word for word lots of songs and rhymes. But somehow I didn't think she was "ready" to learn Portuguese yet. It is a battle every bath time to wash her hair. So I don't always do it. Sometimes I just put a wet facecloth on her hair at the end of her bath and call it a day. I could go on and on. There are just so many failures.
At least, that's what it feels like. It feels like I haven't done any of the things I thought I would as a mom. I'm not the mom I thought I would be. So that leaves me here, wondering. If I'm not that mom, then which mom am I? Is it too late to start a journal? Is it too late to start a baby book? Can't I just look through my instagram account if I want to know when she said her first word or took her first step?
My answer is no. Its not too late to start. And if I'm going to start, then I just have to start. Anywhere. With anything. Starting now is better than starting a year from now. So this is me. I'm starting.
