I never wanted a family. Well, let me take that back: I never wanted to be a parent. Not because I don’t love children and I don’t love the idea of creating life or sharing life, but because I believe myself to be unfit.
When I met David, I knew he had two girls. I knew that they were in elementary school and I knew that they needed a lot of love. What I didn’t know was how hard it was going to be to be a mom to a child I share no blood or name with. Even though I had my doubts, David and I agreed to have a child together. So here I am with a 10-year-old, an 8-year-old, and a 4-month old.
Days like today remind me of why I was against being a parent in the first place: my temper plus my anxiety equal a blubbering, angry idiot with more issues than Time magazine. Don't get me wrong, I love being a mom. I love watching the youngest smile as she sees me enter a room, I love helping the oldest with her math, I adore watching the middle child try on my clothes, but I hate me as a mom.
I work 10 hours a day, come home, make dinner, clean the house, and help with homework before I even get to hold my flesh and blood. I used to love staying busy and active, but with her, all I want to do is lay in bed and watch her watch My Little Pony. I hate me as a mom because all the “mom” things such as cleaning and cooking for the others often come before the “mom” things that matter to and the “mom” things I enjoy.
I never wanted a family but I guess it wanted me.
So I sit and I listen to the laughter, I put band-aids on knees, and I fix dinners every night. I lay awake and hope and pray that one day she will remember that I was there even though I spend more time at work. I am the bad guy when I take away the phone because one hit the other, or when I won’t tie your shoe after you were just disrespectful to me.
I hate me as a mom because I don’t get to be the good guy often. I don’t get to see my flesh and blood and spend time with her like a good mother should. I hate me as a mom because even when I try, it isn’t good enough. Thankfully she is at the point in her life where she won’t remember how horrible I am or how I worked more than I spent time with her (someone has to pay the bills) so I have a little time. However, her sisters, well her sisters see me angry, they feel my wrath, and they hate me because even though I do the “mom” things with or for them, I am not a mom to them.
Maybe one day I can be that to them. Maybe one day they will look back and think that even with all my faults I still loved them with all I had.
I pray that even with all of my issues that she will love me as her mother.
I pray that her older sisters will one day see me as a mother figure.
Since I am a mom by law, hopefully I am a mom by sight.
I am a mom. I care, I worry, I fret, I scream, I cry, and I love.