Motherhood isn’t something I was born to, as that saying goes.
I struggled mightily to get the hang of it at first. I was bowled over by Devin’s adorableness when he entered our household. His sweetness. His funnyness. His perfectness. All of it. But I was also very definitely bowled over by all that it takes to care for a baby.
A couple of months into it, I began to get the hang of things. I gained confidence in my mothering skills. I no longer felt completely inept from dawn ’til dusk. More than that, I began to develop this incredible bond with my kid. Our communication was increasing and I knew, for the most part, what to do to address his needs. I escaped the initial “why the heck are you screaming?” phase with only a few minor scratches.
So I’m quite happy with the way my relationship with my child is moving forward. Yet I still struggle with the loss of control that’s become the norm in my life since parenthood came a-callin’.
Most of my days end with at least a couple of things, if not many more, still undone. Like the laundry, the checkbook, the dog’s walk, or simply the plans I have in my head for organizing photos or closets. Things that weren’t always done before, due to procrastination, but are consistently not done now, due to time. I live a life of disarray that I can’t completely come to terms with most of the time.
But yesterday was different.
Yesterday, for some odd and welcome reason, I felt like Super Mom.
I swear it seemed to all go right. Even with Scott out of town and me being the sole person responsible for keeping Devin safe, sound and relatively happy. From conquering the sledding hill under very windy circumstances to whipping up a Mediterranean take on spaghetti, it all clicked. I did laundry. I cleaned the kitchen. I played trucks and trains. I got all of the day’s errands done in under an hour. I edited an article. I fed the pets. I snuck in a nap. I bathed the kiddo. I spent some time on the treadmill and did my stretches and ab work too. I got all of the toys stowed away neatly before bedtime with help from a reluctant toddler. I read “Frog and Toad” and sang “Frosty the Snowman” and “Old MacDonald”. I wrestled Lucy’s medicine down her gullet. I put the freshly laundred sheets on the bed.
And then I had a glass of shiraz.
Because I know this feeling of Super Mom-ness won’t last forever.