I'm not sure I'm cut out for this motherhood thing. Actually at this moment I'm sure of it. I do not want to be a mother. I fucking hate it. Tonight I came home and moaned. I cried and my heart felt like it was breaking again. That red ole sack of muscle and blood was being split down the middle by my fierce love for my beasts and my fierce love of me. I'm sure that fierce love of me is called Ego. Ego is a spoiled rotten teenage girl; moody, needy and never full, always pulling at you and wanting more.
These past few weeks I have have genuine moments of me-ness, and I like it. I like working at a job that does not involve one kid thing. I love driving in my car by myself, smoking, and listening to whatever the hell I want. I love that I had time to go to a concert with friends, on a date this week, and then to a movie that didn't involve fart jokes. I have studied, I have napped. I have had time to kill. I have flirted and laughed and I have been a shitty mother. I have dreaded almost every moment spent with my children and I have counted the seconds until I am free again.
I do not want to hear that the years rush by. That their childhood will be over quicker than I can imagine. Save that spiel for some mama with no Ego to feed. Tonight I just want to hate mamahood. I want to be able act like the beasties' dad who can take parenting or leave it at his will. Don't want to parent tonight? Okay, fuck it. I'll pass that job off to someone else. How delicious would that be? Take it or leave it parenting. Tonight I would leave it. Tonight I would drink too much, smoke to much, and curl up in a man's bed. I would talk loud, cuss like a sailor, and drink wine on the porch with my ladies. Tonight I would choose to feed that black hole of my Ego. She is fun to feed, until I realize that my self-absorption is hurting others. Then the Ego screams and throws a tantrum as I try to trim a little off the top and get back to focusing on the beasties. That teenage girl of an Ego can throw a tantrum like you've never seen. She is a glass breaker a, soul shatterer. She's a fifteen year old Mike Tyson in heals and cheap makeup.
It is when I have long breaks from my beasties that I have the hardest time mothering. I get a taste of freedom from car seats and whining and neediness and I don't want to return to it. I have to force myself to return to my mothering self, to not get in the car and keep driving to a place where no one knows me as mommy.
It is now the morning after the Ego tantrum. The beasties are with my mom. I will go to work and return to them tonight and I will be a good mother. I will settle into it, I always do. It just takes a few moments/hours. I look at those little beasts and my heart slowly melts with love, and gratitude. At first mothering will seem like a chore and all I will want to do is run away, but then there will be a sneaky smile from a beast. A sweet hug. A little giggle. I will wake up from my Ego induced trance and remember my name; mommy. I will mediate the fights, clean up the messes, and remember to soak these beasts up. I will feel in my bones that they won't be young forever. Soon they will not want to curl up in my lap, kiss my lips, put their sweet little hand in mine.
That's the thing about beasties. They are sneaky strong. They take their little dirty fingers and wipe the cheap makeup off the Ego. They use kisses to tame the beast. They hold down that disillusioned tantrum throwing Mike Tyson Ego until he taps out and snorts laughing at their sweet tickles. They take the car keys and put them away until they're sure you won't run away to Mexico with a man named Giuseppe. Then they give the keys back and beg for you to take them for ice cream.