I know it sounds bad and I really hate to admit it, but I just don't want to be the mommy today. I don't want to be the taxi driver or the lunch packer; the homework helper or the bedtime story reader. I don't want to be the menu planner or the permission slip signer or the medicine dispenser. I don't want to be the laundry doer or the dishwasher; the errand runner or the maid. I don't want to be the schedule enforcer. I don't want to be the referee.
Becoming a mommy was a conscious choice for me, but for so long now, it seems that is all I have been—the mommy. So, if I'm not the mommy, not all these things, what would I be? Perhaps I'd be a high powered executive, trading in my jeans and yoga pants for a power suit and heels. A mover and shaker. Perhaps I would be a writer—a real writer—with a book deal and a best-seller. Or maybe I'd be on a beach somewhere wearing a bikini on a better, non-mom kind of body. I would love to be a traveler, a jet-setter, seeing places near and far. I could post pictures of my excursions on Facebook so that others could envy my “rock star” lifestyle. Better yet, maybe I could just be an actual rock star with fans yelling for an autograph rather than munchkins yelling for some juice.
These are lofty dreams, I know, but mommies are masters of imagination. Sometimes I just want to be someone else; to be somewhere else.
The truth is I love my kids. I would jump in front of a bullet for my kids. I would do anything to spare them from hurt and heartache. This is the life I wanted; the life that I convinced my husband was the right decision many years ago. Like every job, though, this one has up and downs; good days and bad days. Sometimes, the monotony gets, well, monotonous. I feel like a gerbil on one of this ridiculous wheels; running and running, but getting nowhere. Sometimes I wonder if there is more to life than household chores and sibling rivalry and a running a minivan taxi service. Sometimes I want to feel like I have accomplished something—something significant, something more, something that will really make a mark on this world.
Before I go to sleep; before I get rested up to repeat the same old routine tomorrow, I look in on their angel faces one last time. Sleeping. Peaceful. They have their own dreams. They have places to go and things to do—things to be. I realize my job is to get them there. That will be my accomplishment. They will be my mark. There is nothing more significant than this; no job more important. Nothing is more significant and important than them. It's not always easy or glamorous or appreciated. It's not always what I thought it would be; not always what I want it to be.
However, motherhood is a gift. I didn’t appreciate it like I should today. Tomorrow is a new day and in the midst of the monotony, I will remember to be grateful for the blessing.
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