When I Grow Up

When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a ballerina or a stand up comedian. Then I wanted to be a writer. Then I wanted to be a forensic pathologist. Then I wanted to write again. And then I wanted to do math. And then I wanted to edit. And then I wanted to do linguistics. I never particularly wanted to be a mom.

And one day I woke up and realized that being a mom was the most important thing to me in the world. It happened before that day a couple of years ago when a doctor first told me I was probably infertile. It must have been some time after I finally met a man whose children I'd be willing to bear. I could say my biological clock just went "ding" or the pressures of living in a breeding culture finally got to me, but I don't think that's it.

There are moments in life when you find your place and everything seems to work out. Like choosing a major I adored, or marrying a man worth marrying. And whatever compelled me to take what has been a rather perilous journey to motherhood, I say I have found my niche. Of all of the lives I have wished for myself, this is the one I still want the most.

I dance day and night to keep baby calm, and tell ridiculous jokes to a rapt crowd of one. I have seen more medical equipment than I care to talk about. I am writing two life stories and teaching a baby to speak. I am changing diapers. I am changing everything (which is also sometimes poopy).

There will never be anywhere else I am so much wanted or needed. This is what I wanted and needed. So I'll just admit it:

When I grow up, I want to be a mom.

Guilt

My first mommy guilt trip is here. This is the reason my MIL says I will hate all future Mother's Days. This is one of those days I will look back on when having a pity party and thinking of reason after reason I'm not good enough. And the thing is, I'm generally really good at giving myself a break. I just can't seem to let this one go.

There's a Farnsworth family reunion in town this week. I love me some Farnsworths. And I knew we'd have to go easy on the activities because of our bitty baby (now like ten pounds). So I had some reservations about going to tonight's dinner activity. But when tempted with free pizza, I gave in. And . . .

*cringe*

. . . took my baby to a bowling alley. With loud music. And people. And germs. And now I'm blaming myself for his not-unheard-of pre-bedtime fussies. His totally normal feeling temperature. His typical schedule of sneezes.

Just when I was starting to get into the rhythm of this mom thing, the self-hate is here. Sigh.