It's been a bit of mother guilt sharing this week with posts from Holly, Glow, and Mich all admitting they feel incapable at times with this thing we have in common; motherhood. I'm joining in and am going to be brutally honest (again). This isn't a pity party, this is reality.
I've had a few jobs pre-children, some I was awesome at and some I sucked. The ones I loved happened to be the ones I was good at and the ones I hated I was shit at. If I loved the work I'd work my ass off, if I didn't I'd procrastinate and do a half assed job. It's the same with study units for school, TAFE and uni.
I've always known I want children. One of my greatest fears was not having the physical ability to. I always said I would never abort because I'd feel selfish as so many women are unable to have children (in saying that I don't expect others to feel the same or judge anyone who aborts, I'm a firm pro-choicer). I wanted to have children young and when I was eighteen I wanted at least four what did I know?!. I would tell everyone I wanted to be a mother, a stay at home mum in fact.
Now I am living my dream and while I appreciate it and love it, I don't think it's always for me. Sometimes I think I hate it as I get bored and procrastinate like I used to in jobs I didn't like. I have trouble being mindful and 'in the moment'. I find myself multi-tasking too much when I should be focusing all my attention on lufflump.
I'm not raising my son 100% the way I'd like to. He watches too many movies and doesn't read enough books. Sometimes he eats food full of preservatives purely because it's easier and he won't make a fuss. We don't do as much sensory or imaginative play as I'd like. We don't paint or draw as much as some kids.
I worry that the reason he isn't talking is because I'm inadequate as a mother. Because I don't sit down and play flashcards with him everyday. Or maybe it's because he doesn't read enough. Or he watches too much TV or any at all. Maybe I'm talking to him wrong or letting him communicate too well without talking. It's got to be my fault doesn't it?
Often we don't go anywhere. The furthest we will venture out of the house is the letterbox or the backyard. Maybe he needs more outside time? Do we play outside wrong? Is playing with water, sand, rocks and toys enough? Should we be making stories up as well or is he already but can't tell me.
Does he have to fall asleep with me next to him because he feels it's the only time he has my full attention and affection? Is it a sign he's insecure and doesn't feel safe alone?
Does he think I ignore him? Does he feel enough love from his parents? Will he grow up secure and safe knowing we will always love and be there for him?
Even though I think and know all this I don't change. What's wrong with me? If lufflump was an unhappy child would I change? He laughs and smiles a lot, only cries for a reason and has never been very demanding so am I worrying about nothing? Or is he (can he?) at the age of two hiding his unhappiness?
He goes to daycare twice a week. If we could afford it I'd send him more purely because I think he benefits more from there than from me. He's mentally grown so much since starting there and I don't think he would have from being at home.