I’ll Never Be That Mom

Since I was old enough to want something, I knew I wanted to be a mom. I dreamed of all the children I would have and all the adventures we would take. I imagined myself running around with them and playing. Being a mom was my dream. It was the one thing I always knew I wanted. It was the one big constant in my life. I loved babies and children and had original planning on becoming a teacher. I thought about fostering or adopting. Me as a mom, I just knew that was going to be MY thing.

As I got older I realized that I’ll never be the mom I thought I’d be. I’ll never be *that* mom.

I see those moms in the park, the ones who are right there playing with their kids. They run and chase them around. They hover and are right there in case they trip or fall. They go and push them on the swings and go with them down the slide.  They actively participate in the fun activities their kids are doing. They are right there taking pictures, or picking them up to reach those bars.  I’ll never be that mom.

When it is time for outside activities, I see those moms. I see the ones who are always volunteering. I see the ones who are running the kids to the bathroom, or directing them where they need to go. I see the ones who can march in the parade or be up on stage. I see the ones who can run to the car when something is forgotten. I’ll never be that mom.

You have the moms that can cook dinner every night, standing in front of that stove for an hour or more making those perfect dinners. You have the moms whose living rooms are spotless, and the dishes are done every night.  You have the moms who get up and get that water 3, 5, or 7 times. You have the moms who will run into the room at the sound of “MOM! COME HERE!” It’s not urgent; they just need you at the minute. I’ll never be that mom.

That mom is just not who I am. I am this mom.

This mom who sits on the bench at the park watching her kids run around the grass. This mom sits and hopes they don’t trip and fall so she doesn’t have to get up. This mom loathes the idea of pushing her little one on the swings or going down the slides. This mom wishes she could participate in all the fun activities her kids are doing. This mom takes her pictures from afar and begs her older one to help with the bars. I am this mom.

This mom isn’t able to volunteer even though she wishes she could. This mom can’t take those kids to the bathroom or stand and tell them where to go. This mom can’t march in those parades or be up on stage. This mom can’t run to the car to get that favorite toy. I am this mom.

This mom can’t cook dinner every night, standing there in front of that stove. This mom can’t run around and pick up everything in the living room, or make sure the dishes are done before bed. This mom struggles to get her kids water at night and usually just keeps a bottle in the bed with them. This mom sighs when she get called to the other room and wonders if it’s important. I am this mom.

This mom knows she’s being judged and this mom knows people think she’s lazy. This mom suffers from the guilt of it all. This mom wishes things were different. This mom wishes she could be that mom, but it’s just not possible. I am this mom.

A few weeks ago, I asked my daughter to help me with something and she called me lazy. I didn’t get mad; I didn’t get upset with her. I didn’t admit to her how much she hurt me. She’s just a child and she doesn’t understand. She wishes I was that mom too. My friend was there when my daughter said that and she told my mom what my daughter said. My mom pulled my daughter aside and did her best to explain that I wasn’t lazy. I’m in pain.

Did my daughter think I was lazy? Not really. She was annoyed at being asked yet again to do something for me. Can I really blame her for that? Of course I can’t. She knows I am in pain and I’m doing my best to explain to her why I’m asking her to do something for me instead of just asking.

90% of the time I’m in physical pain. It hurts to walk or to stand. It hurts to run around the park with my kids. It hurts to get up at night and get water for a thirsty child. It hurts to stand in front of a stove, or a sink. It’s not that I don’t want to be that mom, I do. I am just unable because of my medical condition. It is my incurable and untreatable condition, Epidermolysis Bullosa. It stole being that mom from me.  It’s not something I want to accept, it’s something I have to accept.

Now, here’s the deal. My mom IS that mom. She is the one who will run around at the park and push them on the swings.  She participates in all their fun activities and picks them up for the bars.

My mom volunteers for all my daughters’ activities and even marches in those parades.  My mom loves to cook and she tries to keep everything spotless. She will run into the room when “Mom” or now “Grandma” is called. She is that mom because I will never be. She does these things without complaining because she knows that I won’t ever be able to do it.

She tells me all the time how she wishes she could trade feet with me so I didn’t have to deal with the pain. Even if it was possible I would never do it. This mom is who I am. That mom is who she is and that’s okay.

It’s okay to be this mom, or even that mom. As moms our job is to be the best one that we are capable of being. For me, most of the time I need to sit. However, if you are a mom who is tired and just doesn’t want to run around, then sit and join me on that bench. If you are a mom who needs a break, then sit and I’ll tell you how much of a good job you are doing. If you are a mom who is just feeling lazy, you know what? Just sit and I’ll tell you it is okay because we all get like that sometimes.

There is nothing wrong with just wanting to be this mom instead of that mom.

Let’s all just go out there and be the best mom that we can be.