I don’t know why I have such a hard time hitting publish on posts that aren’t humorous. It’s hard to be vulnerable and put the hard stuff out there. I don’t want people to judge me. I don’t want to offend someone. But I can’t make everyone happy and I’ve come to realize that. This post has been in my drafts for about two weeks. And I think today is the day to finally put it out there.
A lot of my posts have been about the guilt I feel when parenting, owning up to the fact that I am not the perfect mom and laughing at my stupid mistakes. I keep it real and I am going to continue that with this post.
The sad truth is, even after embracing my imperfections, I still haven’t stopped trying to make my child’s life perfect.
But why? This is the unreachable dream. Does perfect even exist? We all have skeletons in our closets! Why am I still striving to make life perfect for my little sweet angel toddler monster?
Because I love him more than life itself. Because I do still feel guilty when I see the happy smiling family lined up at Disney World taking a selfie with their mouse ears on. Because I want him to have the best of everything. Because I don’t ever want him to feel like I have let him down. Or that he has missed out on something.
Because when I found out that I was pregnant with him, I was shocked. And surprised. And – I feel terrible saying this – disappointed in myself. I wasn’t ready for a baby. Yes, I was 29 years old. I had a career. A fiancee. But we had only been engaged for a couple months and we were in the process of planning a huge wedding. Thinking about what tropical oasis awaited us for our honeymoon.
I grew up Catholic. I felt such despair that everyone in town was going to gossip about me. I was the unwed pregnant woman. I cried and cried. Yes, I knew how lucky I was to be having a child with the man I would be spending the rest of my life with. And I wish I had enjoyed it more, spent less time being ashamed that I was pregnant before I got married. That we were pushing our wedding up ten months.
I was so selfish. So damn selfish. Thinking about it makes me so sad and disappointed in myself. Now that we are trying to have another baby and I haven’t gotten pregnant yet, it makes me feel even worse. Every time I take a pregnancy test and it comes back negative, I cry. Today I sobbed. So many people would have been so overjoyed to find out they were pregnant – including me three years later. And I was feeling sorry for myself.
After a couple months, I got over it. I felt Henry move and saw him on the ultrasound and knew God had blessed us with this miracle. I couldn’t wait to meet him and squeeze him and be a mom.
So we didn’t take our tropical honeymoon. We had to save money. We had a baby on the way and it was time to grow up fast.
We still haven’t taken our tropical honeymoon. Maybe one day. But life gets in the way. We needed to save money, we both needed new cars, we had to buy a bigger house. We would love to redo our kitchen. We have bills to pay. And we both work our asses off so we can provide our baby the life that he deserves.
So no matter how much I complain about my kid, how much I want him to just go to bed some nights, and how bad I feel like I need a break, I am so grateful he came when he did. It obviously wasn’t planned. And we weren’t planning on having kids for a few years. We wanted to enjoy being married, travel, go to concerts, see the world. But that hiccup in our plan is one of the loves of my life now. He completed my heart. And that is why I strive to make life perfect for him.
Until Next Time,