The Bad Mommy

Okay, so just before you get all enraged over the contents of this  post, and begin contemplating if I require to go in for some kind of assessment or counseling, let me prelude this post with the fact that, I do not in fact believe I am not a good mother or I am an evil one. Sure, I don’t essentially think I am a super mommy who is winning any “Mother of the Decade” awards either

I try to do my best in whichever way I can, although. And regardless of the latest stints of sleepless nights, I believe I am in fact composing it all together pretty much nicely and in best of my abilities. Also I’m the solitary mother Junior Seth has. So even at times when I don’t do that well, I can at least take comfort in the fact that he doesn’t know any better and that in spite of those recklessness, he seems to love me anyhow.

I love my son with every ounce and degree of my soul, and I would die for him in a heartbeat or split my right arm if it meant he never once had to go through any sort of pain in his whole life. I invest most of time of the day trying to come up with fresh and thrilling ways to amuse him.  So while I am cooking, I find myself doing funny things I NEVER would have imagined I’d do. Yes- So I am one of those moms who will elevate my son’s butt to her nose to find out if he has pooped. I sing A LOT regardless of being just another out of tune bathroom singer, and ever since he was born, buying my own clothes, my parlor sessions have all taken a backseat. Instead, I keep filling his closest to the rim. I kiss him no less than 50,000 times a day, which is far more than the times I yell at him. No matter how tired I am, if he wakes up – its morning for me – even on a Sunday. I love the way I always put his needs ahead of my own as he is my priority.

The sine qua non is, I wasn’t born a mother- my son made me one. And I do feel, I am a rather good one or so my husband tells me. My child is contented almost always. He is hale and hearty. We spend good times. We play and we do silly stuff together. However some days, there are feelings that go up my head which direct me to assume “I’m a bad mommy”.

And in the courage of being all truthful and candid and palpably insane to all of you out there, I thought I’d share. I know I am not the only one here.

So here are some honest Mommy Confessions

§  At times, I stare at my son and tell myself “What did I do to give birth to such a naughty kid?”

§  It’s letdown when I can’t get something to function properly (these days it’s the sleep deprived hours.)

§  I have the nerve to crib about the bumpy days, when there are plentiful people out there who are eager to be in my place and can’t

§  When he was younger, he has cried – and cried a lot, hysterically and I have not only let that go on, but have been completely unable to stop it (good mothers can fathom how to make their babies stop crying, can’t they?)

§  I own up that many days, I feel like I have no clue about what I’m doing. Everybody feels I have it all in place — great wife, great mom, great everything— but I actually don’t.

§  If I have to watch Kolaveri di one more time, I may have to fuse a fork in my eyes. In fact, then I’d be noticed. Perhaps not such a bad idea, afterall, eh?

§  At times I pretend to be ill, just so I have a reason to go to sleep till late in the morning.

There are a zillion paradoxes in motherhood: The very same day you choose to change the bed sheets will inexorably be the day your child chooses to wet the bed. With a zillion toys you spend your hard earned money in and bring for your child, your child will indisputably choose to play with all the kitchen utensils from the cabinet than with any exclusive learning games.

We always love to coat motherhood as a flawless experience, overflowing with heavenly kids and glowing mommies. An angelic infant is quietly sleeping on his mother’s chest. A toddler is happily taking his faltering first steps into the affectionate and inviting arms of his mommy, who is smiling pompously and wipes away tears of happiness running down her cheeks. A mommy’s long, black, flowing hair sprawling in the wind as she hold her children’s hands and runs together with her good-looking, perfectly dressed kids

CUT TO REALITY.

Motherhood isn’t a series of astonishing little moments compiled together in one flawlessly arranged power point slide show. It’s soiled and daunting and lovely and tough and phenomenal and fatiguing and unacknowledged and blissful and exasperating all at once. It’s all of that and more. All those mommies who argue that motherhood is just the goody - goody stuff are plainly in rejection or denial (or they are on some sort of drugs). Accepting that this work isn’t always painless doesn’t make anybody a bad mommy.

Being the Perfect Mommy is like preparing for the perfect holiday: the more complex it gets, the less fun you are probably going to have. I'm not certain where I squeeze in but I can sure tell you this: there's been more food on my carpet than one can imagine and even baby poop, sometimes and I'm damn good cleaning that. At times being a perfect mom is all about staying in your lousy pajamas, your child piled and jumping and ruining your bed while you watch the latest movies on Netflix.  It certainly may not be refined and sophisticated and polished and pretty, but the smile on your child’s face will be.

So how about you? Are the Perfect Mommy or the Bad Mommy.

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