Am I a good mom? My expectations for motherhood vs reality
What makes someone a “good” mom? Some musings on the kind of mom I want to be vs the kind of mom I actually am…
From a young age, I knew I wanted to be a mom. I’m not sure if I have strong maternal instincts because I’m a first-born daughter and it’s kind of our “thing,” or if I just loved the combination of playing family, taking care of others, and being in charge.
As a preteen, I became an American Red Cross-certified babysitter. Then, I was a camp counselor. Later, a hyper-vigilant friend who escorted her drunken besties home when they’d been over-served. Then, a cat mom. Then, an aunt. And then, nothing while I waited to become an actual mom.
< Insert long-winded, depressing TMI infertility story here >
And now, finally, I am an actual real-life human mom to two very-wanted, very-cute, very-exhausting kiddos.
There’s been a LOT of buildup on this rickety road to parenthood. I’ve had decades to anticipate what it’d be like to carve pumpkins togethers, sit in on parent-teacher conferences, and snuggle up at night reading bedtime stories.
Let’s just say the fantasy of it all hasn’t quite lined up with the reality of parenting…which is about a million metric tons harder than I ever imagined it’d be.
I know that sounds stupid because every parent on the planet has expressed this challenge ad nauseam. How many times have you heard a parent complain about how thankless, exhausting and relentless parenting is? How many memes and reels point out the frustrating, hilarious, and depressing minutiae of parenting?
But before you become a parent, even though you KNOW it’ll be hard, there’s no way you can really know HOW hard it’ll be. Sure you know it’ll be “hard,” but there’s no way to anticipate the million micro-decisions and battles you’ll fight every single day/hour/minute (times a billion for each additional kid) until you become a parent.
For me, the hardest part is bridging the giant chasm between being the kind of mom I always wanted to be and accepting the kind of mom I actually am.
I want to be a fun mom. But I’m a stressed mom.
I want to be a stylish mom who looks like she has it all together. But I don’t know how to do makeup or nails or french braid (both my own and theirs).
I want to be the mom who sews Halloween costumes for the whole family (we’d go as the cast of the Wizard of Oz). But I have a headache, so it’s a store-bought costume and theme-less Halloween again, I suppose.
I want to be the mom who bakes birthday cakes from scratch. But it’s PB&J for dinner. My back hurts. My neck throbs. They won’t eat anything, anyway. I need to lie down.
And if I stop moving, I start missing my own mom so much it feels like I might explode. I wish she could swoop in and fix it all. I’m jealous that my own kids get my hugs and my smell and my laugh at bedtime, and I’ll never get my mom again. I can’t fix that. In fact, I can’t fix anything. I yell when the Ikea drawer gets dislodged and when the shower rod collapses. I cry and fall to the floor; defeated by inanimate objects and my own rage and shame. The oven has been broken for 6 months.
This October, I dragged my family to a Halloween event at the Minnesota Zoo. It was $60 for all four of us, even with our membership discount. My toddler screamed the whole 45-minute car ride there. My kindergartener was scared of the jack-o-lanterns and had to pee every 3 blocks. I didn’t get one stupid photo.
Meanwhile, the family in front of us included a mom and dad bundled up in matching Patagonia jackets. They pulled a posh wagon lined with fleece, complete with cupholders for hot cocoa. Two quiet little boys sat bundled up in the back like Lego pieces, wedged neatly inside.
“See, look at that family,” I nudged to Brad. They were the vision. Not a screaming toddler with raisins stuck to her face and a mouthy kindergartener who is scared of everything. Brad said, “We’re not that family and we’ll never be that family.” I know he’s right.
<Sigh> I tried, though. I tried to do something fun…just, no one thought it was fun. Does that score me any mom points or no, do they all just resent me?
I wonder how my kids will remember their childhoods. Will they remember a fun mom who chased them and tickled them and played dress up with them? Or will they remember an anxious mom stuffing them into their car seats and grimacing when they screamed?
I’ve been working through a lot of this in therapy because my self-judgment is so intense. I sew a label into every micro-parenting decision I make. Is this what a good mom would do?
Letting them have snacks after dinner. Not making them change out of pajamas on the weekend. Watching too much TV. Letting them bathe every second or third day. No decision, however small, is free from my own self-judgement.
A few weeks ago, my therapist gave me a homework assignment: write a list of all the things I think actually make someone a “good mom.” I was tempted to write a shitty, joke-list about having matching family pajamas and holiday cards that go out on time, but ultimately decided to take the assignment seriously. Below is my attempt to define what I ACTUALLY believe makes someone a good mom.
What makes someone a good mom?
They want to get to know their kid; they’re genuinely curious about and interested in their kid.
They meet their kid’s basic needs for food, shelter, safety, and security.
They keep their kid safe and help them feel safe.
They are warm, affectionate, and kind.
They are a present, dependable “calm and sturdy leader” (stolen from Dr. Becky).
They seek to understand their kid’s preferences and respect who they actually are (not who they want them to be).
They understand their kid is always doing their best and is good inside (also Dr. Becky), even when their kid is having a hard time.
They model how to recognize their needs and calmly express them.
They take breaks when they feel burnt out (or hopefully before).
They create a routine and strong rules and boundaries that show kids they are loved and cared for.
They ask for help when they need it.
They are sensitive to their kid’s fears and anxieties and try to quell them and teach them coping skills.
They expose their kid to new cultures, places, holidays, traditions, foods. sports, and activities.
They answer questions as honestly as possible.
They prioritize their kid’s physical and mental health.
They help their kids navigate friendships and other relationships and social dynamics.
They want their kid to have strong relationships with other kids and trustworthy adults (and aren’t threatened by their closeness to others).
They show their kid how to include and care for others.
They show their kid how to stand up for what’s right and fair.
They believe in the inherent goodness and worthiness of their child and help discover what makes them unique.
They are someone their child can trust and say anything to.
They teach them how to cook, clean, do laundry, buy gifts for others and become a generous, responsible adult.
They teach them tools for regulating their emotions and language for expressing them.
They stay patient and regulated when their child is upset.
They help their kid see when their behavior is problematic and teach them how to do better.
They don’t punish their kid (overtly or covertly) for being different. They don’t shame their kid for being themselves.
They teach their kid about the world without scaring them and without lying to them.
Anyway, I’m not quite sure how I’m doing. It varies day to day (honestly minute to minute).
Some items on this list feel as simple as breathing and others feel impossible (see #8, 9, 23, 27).
But I will keep trying to be all of these things for my kiddos and not let myself get too discouraged or bogged down by what all the Instagram-perfect moms are doing out there.
What am I missing? What else do you think makes someone a “good mom?”