ODETTE PARFITT, 041Baby columnist, reflects on the challenges and unexpected expectations of motherhood in her latest piece, “Is my mom-of-the-year medal in the mail?”
I’ve never thought of myself as a perfectionist until I became a mother. Type A and a fan of to-do lists? Definitely. But not a perfectionist. Then again, there is nothing quite like the challenges of motherhood to make you feel like you need to be doing everything, for everyone, all the time. Over the past 16 months, I have perfected a routine of bottle-washing, feeding, laundry of tiny clothes, and naptimes – and it is exhausting. Mostly because these tasks do not occupy me fully – no, I am also a wife, a sister, a daughter, a friend, an employee (not necessarily in that order). And for some reason, I keep trying to do all of it perfectly now.
The idea for this column came to me at 3 a.m., a brainchild of middle-of-the-night breastfeeding, when I realized I still didn’t know what my topic for my almost-due article would be. It was another in a long list of expectations I was failing to meet, and it got me thinking about what we, as mothers, expect from ourselves every day.
Not only do we put our bodies through trauma to bring life into the world, but we are also slaves to our hormones for about two years afterward and to tiny humans who add to the demands we are already facing. Because we love them so dearly, we will literally give more than 100% of ourselves to care for them – you know, while also keeping a household running and holding down a job, etc.
The thing is, a lot of the time, we’re placing those expectations on ourselves.
Here’s the secret: there’s no mom-of-the-year medal coming.
Whether your child’s dummy is sterilized every 30 minutes or whether he picks it up off the ground and sticks it in his mouth, he’ll probably grow up to be a functional human being either way. No matter how hard we try, babies will get sick, scream through teething, and fall off the couch or bed at some point. Despite our best efforts and what we see as our failings, the process of growing up will happen to them all.
So, as I remind myself that there is no medal for parenting, I try to focus on the rewards I do get: the tiny outstretched hands seeking my attention, the snuggling in the dark after feeding, the giggles at my funny faces, and those moments where you look at your child in wonder as you watch them learn every day.
To any of you out there who have felt the same unique mix of mom guilt, perfectionism, exhaustion, and awe: I see you, you are amazing, and your child’s love proves that you are doing just fine.
Leave a Reply