Motherhood: Expectation vs. Reality
So back when I was (eventually) a beaming pregnant lady bursting with anticipation & excitement, I kind of had an idea in my head about what Motherhood would be like, and what kind of Mother I would be. It was something like this:
- Wake up every morning, as fresh as a daisy, fuelled by the adrenaline rush of pure, maternal love.
- Nourish myself and my precious child with organic fruit and wholesome home cooked meals.
- Read almost constantly to my little sponge of knowledge, often in Latin.
- Go on nature walks, frequently.
- Nap contentedly with babe in arms.
- Play with my bundle of joy, and their beautiful wooden educational toys & puzzles.
- Read bedtime stories & sing lullabies until I can tear myself from the cot side at bedtime.
- Spend the evening musing with my husband about our precious creation.
- Collect “Natural Mother of the Year” award for 2009.
And you know, in the real world, this is happening:
- Awake in a panic at 5am, when the children announce at the foot of the bed that they have given the goldfish breakfast.
- Rescue goldfish.
- Clean the weetabix off of everything I own.
- Go to the park, be scared by “friendly” dad who has come along with his children. And cider.
- Lament the day that kind relatives started buying toys that play constant and incredibly annoying music.
- Time out.
- Put on television, tweet about how much I hate Norman Price.
- Ignore housework in favour of much deserved cold cup of tea.
- Count down until bedtime.
- Have a glass of wine. Sit next to husband in shocked silence.
But seriously, it is SO MUCH MORE FUN THAT WAY.
And at least I won’t ever be one of those people that hoots in disbelief when you say you don’t think you ever want to have children of your own. (Except after the wine.)