The Difference Between Men and Women: Thoughts on Parenthood

Motherhood is nothing like I expected. I thought I had an idea of the basics beforehand; of course, you’re going to love your child and sure, it’ll be hard and you won’t get much sleep, etc., etc., etc. But the truth is, no one can really prepare you for all that motherhood entails.

Ali (22 weeks) and Mr. Tristen (13 1/2 months : )

The love I feel for my children is indescribable and mere words simply cannot convey the true extent of my unconditional love for them. It’s unremarkably instinctual, flowingly simple and vast in it‘s density. It is the kind of love gentles asks to negate my own pain and discomfort to protect, to love and to cherish their well-being, of which, I effortlessly accept.

Simply stated, I never knew the true nature of the well-versed cliche, “a mother’s love,” until I became one.

My daughter and I <3

With that said, it’s difficult to love them so much and whole-heartily want to give all of myself, all of my time and all of my love to them while keeping myself (and my sanity) intact without feeling guilty on some level, benign or otherwise.

I would love to cuddle with their soft, delicious-smelling, warm little bodies in the darkness of the night and lovingly find their gentle hand seeking comfort by laying ever-so-gently on my face. But I really, really love the little sleep I get and Jarod, my husband, adamantly refuses to sleep with any of the kids in our bed (unless their brand-new tiny newborn infants) and remarks it’s fine if I want to but he’s “sleeping on the couch then.”

Only tiny babies get this treatment from daddy.

Whilst at the same time, I deeply love my husband just as much, if not more, than sleep.

It is incredibly hard trying to find a balance with it all.

Trissy with his stunna shades on.

Aiden and his cars. Do you think he has enough??

I wish I could just spend the entire day tickling their giggling bodies, laughing at the silliness’s of life and racing little toy trucks and cars against one other every minute of the day. But instead I find myself frustrated at the never-ending pile of dirty laundry and a dishwasher that needs to be emptied and refilled with dishes slathered in peanut butter. I am constantly cleaning, scrubbing, organizing, picking up and spraying but you would never know it by the look of my home.

I would give more money than my bank account has ever seen to have a weekend of nothingness, a weekend free from kids, responsibility and free from a mother’s guilt of actually making some time for herself, a weekend where I didn’t have to strategically plot out breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks and nap times to hinder the possibility of an emotional breakdown or temper tantrum by any or all of my kids along with my array of other responsibilities I need to tend to (discipline, teaching, clothing, bathing, cleaning, folding, playing and preparing everything).

Nevertheless, I still want to be the very best mom that these kids could ever have because they deserve that. They deserve someone who loving disciplines, reenforces integrity and honesty and makes their childhood as magical as humanly possible, all with a smile on her face.

At the Pumpkin Patch 2011.

Some days I feel like I can’t be the mother they deserve because I am constantly failing at being that “perfect mom” I always wished I would be. But alas, my house is always a mess, I yell (more often than I’m proud to admit), I almost always count the minutes to bedtime, I suck terribly at crafts and I don’t bake with them as often as I told myself I would. Sometimes I feel like a shitty mother.

So as Jarod and I sat at the dining table scattered with dirty dishes and messes only little boys can graciously give, adjacent from the living room that seemingly just regurgitated all the toys ever made while listening to our children make more noise than we thought humanly possible by three very small human beings, I cringed at the my own thoughts of how damn annoying they were and at how much I hate that I think those thoughts.

I should be a good mother, a better mother; I should be loving them.

“Do you ever think you’re a bad parent?” I asked Jarod hoping for some sort of common ground, something to connect us and to ease my own insecurities at parenting because these are the thoughts that fill my mind at any given moment, any given second,

I analyze and contemplate my own success (or lack thereof) as their mother constantly and often feel heavily burdened and exhausted by my inability to meet my own expectations.

Jarod lightly chuckled at the thought of being a bad parent as he shook his head, “no, they’re annoying!

A "not-so-annoying" moment for him :)

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