Confessions of a Professional Mom

Confessions of a Professional Mom

Professional mom seeking clarity, balance and a well deserved glass of wine.

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OMG, I’m Somebody’s Mother

September 29, 2011 , ,

I know this will sound absurd, but after my first child was born, I thought, “Holy crap, I’m somebody’s mother.”

I then went right out and started a therapy fund for her (to be used at a later date). Nothing like planning for the future, I always say. It’s a funny thing…you can carry this baby inside you for nine months (which is actually 40 weeks-they trick you) and when she comes out you can’t believe that she’s YOURS. They say men deal with this, which I can understand; it didn’t grow inside them, but they know they contributed. Well, I now have TWO children and I still can’t believe that I’m their mother.

ME. What do I really know about being somebody’s mom. Other than what I’ve learned from my own mother. Most of which was quite good. Or, what I’ve learned from watching other mothers or read in books. I guess this is all supposed to prepare you, but for some reason I still question my worthiness and ability to be somebody’s mom. The woman who single-handedly can breast feed, poop and pet the dog at the same time. The woman who takes care of you when you are sick and always knows the exact flavor of sherbet that will cure what ails you. The woman who never runs out of BandAids or Neosporin. The woman who knows the difference between an “I’m tired” cry and an “I’m bleeding” cry. The woman who can bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan and never ever let your dad forget he’s a man…while hiding her secret super cape and posing as a mild-mannered suburban housewife, or reporter at the Daily Planet. I’m HER! This is ME! Holy crap, you’re in trouble kids.

It just feels like so much responsibility. Teaching these pure little creatures to talk and walk and eat and bathe and laugh and share and clean up (yeah, right) and pray and love. It’s alot. Some days I question whether or not I can actually handle it. Question whether or not I’m really qualified for this giant task. What if I fuck them up? What if I lose one? What if they grow up to be a serial killer? Will these things be a reflexion of my parenting skills, or lack thereof?! Will these things even be about me?! Not really, I tell myself. My job is to teach you the basics then hand you the survival guide and send you out into the world to maybe go have some kids and fuck them up all on your own. But I digress….my grandchildren will be perfect in every way.

What’s really scary is when you hear your words and expressions coming out of their mouths. My oldest is a mini-me. I’m happy to say that she inherited my sense of humor and we love to laugh. We are constantly cracking jokes and talking in funny voices. She has my smile. My teeth. My hands. My hair x10. My eyes. I just hope I can do her proud. Be the mom she needs. Support her the way she needs supported. I used to think that you raised all your kids the same way, but I’ve quickly deduced that you do not. Each of your children is an individual. They respond differently to discipline and child psychology and they simply need different things to thrive.

I need to handle my second daughter a little different than the first. My youngest is her father reincarnated. Visa vi “very different than me.” She is very sensitive and doesn’t do well with yelling (my favorite form of communication when angry or stressed). She needs lots of touch. She’s very expressive with her hands (ok, so she gets that from me) and she’s very oral. She also has quite a temper. Yikes! Slap me and call me Ruby, this makes me crazy!! Gives me a stomach ache. I don’t like it. la la la la la la la

I just want them to get what they need from me. Enough of whatever nurtures them to the fullest. Whether it be touch, communication, love or a good dose of whiskey (just kidding). They don’t make you take a test to be a mom. Should they? Would most of us pass? I guess I never really had to take a test to be a graphic designer. School tests, of course, but nothing that said, YOU HAVE PASSED A TEST AND NOW YOU’RE A CERTIFIED GRAPHIC DESIGNER. Hmmm. Maybe I should take that as a cue. The real test for being a graphic designer has been baptism by fire, aka: learning from your mistakes and successes as you go. Is this how you become a parent too? I’m just fearful of fucking these kids up as I learn. I don’t honestly think I’ll completely jack them up, just slightly tarnish their inner core….Wow, that doesn’t sound good.

Oh, kids……I’m sorry I’m your mother, let’s rethink this whole thing…..Kids? HEY, untie grandma and quit poking the dog with that giant sharp knife, you’re not a surgeon and he needs that ear.


Stay sane, my friends.


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