Sunday, February 14, 2010

selective hearing

The house is quiet save a steady and grating ticking from the clock a top the mantle, and I'm thinking or writing but who knows what will come. My life is simple in it's complexities. Wife to a wonderful though drained and down trodden first year resident, mother to two gorgeous children. A gregarious two year old in a current state of attachment to me that I both love and loathe in one emotion, who loves me fiercely unless I get in his way or turn off the TV. A beautiful and content 4 month old daughter who is so lovely despite being marred by a cosmetic defect whose cause is still a mystery to medicine. I love these roles, I don't mind being defined by them, I am grateful to be trusted to support and develop the lives of these three wonderful people, but I'm often wondering if there is something more for me. I'm scared to know, scared to try and fail. I'd almost rather never know that I could have made an impact. Almost.

The days in this yellow house are often full of life, full of laughter and tower building and staring into the eternally loving eyes of a nursing child; and I KNOW that I am happy here. But like a dark and menacing cloud there is ever a whisper in my heart, a tiny resonating voice trying to convince me that I should not be at peace, that I should resent my husband for how little he does around the house, that I am failing my child by letting him watch 2 hours of TV a day, that I am not measuring up. When I pause, when I am still, I know the truth. I know that I wouldn't want my sweet spouse spending his precious time doing dishes and chores in lieu of chasing our little man through the house, or thrashing about with him to heavy metal. I know my son will be better off watching Elmo so that Mom can have some peace than dealing with a stressed and temperamental mother. I know that I am doing the best I can, even if I also know that I can do better, that each day is a day to push myself a little more. Those are the things that matter. I have to get it out of my head that there is always more I and he could do for our children and each other. I have to drown out the whispers with truths.

So I guess the point of me writing this is speak for mothers, to speak up against the guilt we bang ourselves against day in and day out. Fight the whispers and find a quiet moment to let your heart soar on the beauty of who your are and who your family is because of you.

And that is the first thing I chose to write.

1 comment:

  1. I've always thought you were an excellent writer! Can't wait to read more! Also, I have some of the same thoughts. Funny, huh?