I have spent the past 23.5 weeks in a state of, I suppose, denial. I mean, the baby would kick, we bought things…we’re kinda getting ready for the arrival. I only have girl clothes, so if it’s a boy..well it’s gonna be in pink for a bit. I bought an Ergo. We have a bassinet. We know what stroller/pram we want. Beyond that I hadn’t really thought about anything.
Then the kicks started to get more real. More pronounced. I have often squirmed in the passenger seat of Andrew’s truck because I’m either getting kicked in the bladder or the cervix. I grab by belly, trying to coax the little one up “Stop kickin’ you little monster!” Andrew is quite amused. I have now the beautiful pleasure of needing to pee every single time I get up from sitting down…hello pressure!
Then it hits you…holy s–t I’m gonna be a Mom.
I AM GOING TO BE A FREAKING MOM!
That is when I started to panic. Really, started to panic.
THIS IS REAL! I don’t want to screw up my kids. I don’t want my daughter or son to think about anything other then being their fabulous selves. I want them to be unburdened by my burdens. I want to exude confidences, grace, fragility and perseverance. I do NOT want my children to be consumed with thoughts of doubts, body image woes, or their own perfectionist filled mis-givings like me. I want them to be carefree, focused and respectful human beings.
I freaked.the.freak.out. I mean how can you possibly summize everything that you hope that your children are, when you feel like you’re about 20% of it on most days. I sat with it for a bit and just let it wash over me. I just don’t want to screw up my kids. I really don’t. I do not need to feel like I have to wrap them into bubble wrap and cart them around their whole lives. I want to to work for what they have, to have some failure, to deal with life as it is. But I desperately am afraid that somehow my short-comings, my demons, my battles would wash into their little precious souls.
I don’t want to rob them of their innocence, due to my own struggles.
I didn’t know how to deal with all this really. It has been on my mind for about a week, so much so that even if I talk about with people I can feel that throat tightening choke of a good cry coming on. I don’t expect myself to be perfect (most of the time) I just want to be someone with whom my children respect, admire, and know they are loved by.
“So, please tell me that I’m not the only one who’s terrified of screwing their kids up? Right?” I begged one of my girlfriends who has three girls“OH NO!!!!! And to be honest Michelle, it never stops. Some days you think you’ve got it nailed and then some days you sit back and look at your kids and think ‘what have I done.’ And it changes as they grow. You just have to have faith and do the best you can” she said.
I’m always late because I’m a procrastinator and I procrastinate because I’m overwhelmed and I’m overwhelmed because I’m a perfectionist and I’m a perfectionist because I need affirmation and I need affirmation because I feel unworthy and I feel unworthy because somewhere, sometime, something in me cracked and the idea that I am lovable leaked out… I broke. And I’m still broken… And Jesus finds me like that, leaky and late, and He scoops up the pieces and makes me new. I’ll probably break again tomorrow, or in like five minutes, but He’ll keep scooping, again and again, until the day I finally get it, until the day I learn that I was created to be loved. And that day, that glorious day, the angels will sing in Heaven and, by God, I. will. be. on. time. ~Jaime ‘Grace Waits’
And it’s that. It’s the knowledge that I DO NOT and WILL NOT have all the answers. That when I’m leaky, I have my faith. When I’m in doubt of who I am as a woman, wife, mother … i have my faith. It’s the constant growth inside of me, the deep desire to push through which I hope ozzes into my kids. I hope they become tenacious little buggers and know that no matter what, they are always loved.