Ambivalence

Ambivalent. That's the word I've been looking for. I was reading a magazine the other day when a mother described herself as ambivalent toward being a mother. It struck a chord.

Don't get me wrong. I am absolutely in love with my children. I can't wait to get home after work and play with them. I begrudge dinner time because it interrupts our play. I rejoice in the daily miracles that take place in their growth. My entire house has been turned upside down to cater to their safety. Last night, while laying on Aric's chest, Gavin looked up at his dad and whispered, "Da Da", over and over. I nearly cried. Yet, in this loving, consuming relationship, I find hardship.

Besides the fatigue from not having a good nights sleep in almost 3 years, I feel overwhelmed sometimes. There are days when, let's face it, I just don't feel like being a mom. I would rather come home, order out, and read a good book. Sometimes I'd rather spend the $100 a month diaper bill on a gym membership and get my body back. I know, that will never happen.

I'm ok with that. I guess that is why I use the word ambivalent. In between dirty diapers, stepping on Hotwheels, and posing as a human burp rag, there are moments of pure joy. At first I was afraid of my feelings of ambivalence. Now I realize that they are ok. It is just a word that describes being torn, as most mother's are. Occasionally, every mother wants to step out of her mom jeans and go out on the town. Every mother wants to feel human, attractive, and, dare I say, vibrant. At the same time, I love the feeling I get when I come home and both of my boys are vying for my attention. It helps caress away any wounds I might have gathered throughout the day.

I am also realizing that no mom is perfect, just as no wife is perfect. No mom wakes up everyday thinking that motherhood is delightful. I don't. Especially when the wake up call happens at 3 am. Nonetheless, even in the midst of those aggrevating moments, I realize just how blessed I am to have my children. They are a delight. I have friends who try desperately to conceive, to no avail. I can't imagine their anguish. It wasn't hard for us. In fact, it was so easy it was sickening. I am thankful for that to. Just as I am thankful for mothers, like the one in the magazine, who are real. I appreciate those who aren't afraid to show you their stretch marks, figuratively speaking. Motherhood is a journey, and with every journey comes wear and tear. I just hope to cross the finish line with two godly, respectful, and purposeful young men.