I really can’t put it off for another day as the kids are running out of clothes. It may not seem like a big deal, but the very thought of completing this task exhausts me.
Doing laundry would entail me filling up bags, lifting them and putting them in the cart. I would then have to take them down to the basement where I would need to wash, dry and fold every piece. It’s at this moment that I wish for a house with its own amenities.
I dread getting into that elevator. I look like hell. I also have to do dinner and baths, but laundry was my only big job for the day. I obviously failed.
To further serve as proof of my guilt, I sent the following text to my husband: “I cannot get this kid down to the laundry room. He’s continuing to play in the water and chooses not to listen. I give up.”
Years ago, when I envisioned motherhood, I just assumed that I would be an endless ball of energy. Dinner would always be on the table. My home would be immaculate. The kids would be angels.
It isn’t as if I didn’t expect hardships along the way. I was fully aware (or so I thought) of the challenges in raising children. However, my love and dedication to my little ones would always get me through. Silly me.
As moms, we strive to keep it together at all times. Not only is this a difficult feat, it’s downright impossible. If the years have taught us anything, it’s that sometimes situations arise that are beyond our control.
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Maybe our own parents are sick and need our help. Perhaps one of the kids is having issues in school. We also can’t forget the bills; they need to be paid.
The added stressors, the inevitable stressors, are what finally do us in. This is what leads to both our mental and physical breakdowns.
You may be looking at the other moms around you. I know I always did. I assumed there were two types of moms. The first type is always organized, well put together and perfect. The other type is the mom that seems tired on a daily basis. She’s struggling. Both of them annoyed me.
The first type bothered me due to their consistent way of being able to handle anything and everything at any given time. They always looked beautiful in doing so. Regarding the second type, I was particularly envious of “those moms” after the loss of my firstborn son. I was resentful of their look of frustration. How could they be so in receiving such a gift?
The reality is that most of us are tired on a daily basis. We moms have a special gift of faking it.
In the past eight years of being a mom, I have learned to be gentler with myself. The kids will forgive me for not being perfect at all times. They still love me when a load of laundry doesn’t get done.
I’m the one who needs to forgive myself. It’s a learning process, but I’m getting there. I’m doing the best that I possibly can. We are all doing the best that we possibly can.
As I sit here at the computer with a little boy climbing my lap for hugs and cuddles, I realize what I’m really here for. The laundry is still not done, and that’s more than OK with me.