WhitneyTo Be or Not to Be a Mother -Part Two
October 26th 2006 15:26
There was to be no moving bassinet in my house. No miracle to put a halt to my son’s constant crying. I had to accept this. I had to accept that I’d done everything possible to achieve the goal. To get one. But I couldn’t. Therefore it was not meant to be. Can’t change fate. Right? Have to accept what is. Sure it seemed like the bassinet may have been an answer to my prayers but what more could I have done? Oh well.
Oh well? Was that all I was supposed to do? Sigh and get over it? I’d had the pregnancy from hell and now I had a son who seemed to be spawned from the same place. Son of a Jackal. I’d been so relieved when I’d checked his scalp and did not find 666 carved in it. Oh well? When what I really felt was, why me? But I love my son. I love my son. I love my son.
And I hate motherhood. I hate motherhood. I hate motherhood. Every time I saw a mother happily strolling down a street or in mall pushing her perfect sleeping baby I felt jealous and angry. Why not me? Why was I suffering? I’d been a good girl. I’d been nice and giving. Why couldn’t I get a break? When would I get a break?
Motherhood was nothing like “they” said it would be. All smiling, cooing, sweet smelling babies and fun playtime. All those commercials showing happy mothers tossing their even happier babies into the air. All those happy mothers on those G-rated T.V. shows. For me motherhood spelled exhaustion, frustration, loneliness and emptiness.
I was in a prison. A complete loss of freedom. There was no more me. All I could do was watch the clock and wait until my sentence ended.
Oh well? Was that all I was supposed to do? Sigh and get over it? I’d had the pregnancy from hell and now I had a son who seemed to be spawned from the same place. Son of a Jackal. I’d been so relieved when I’d checked his scalp and did not find 666 carved in it. Oh well? When what I really felt was, why me? But I love my son. I love my son. I love my son.
And I hate motherhood. I hate motherhood. I hate motherhood. Every time I saw a mother happily strolling down a street or in mall pushing her perfect sleeping baby I felt jealous and angry. Why not me? Why was I suffering? I’d been a good girl. I’d been nice and giving. Why couldn’t I get a break? When would I get a break?
Motherhood was nothing like “they” said it would be. All smiling, cooing, sweet smelling babies and fun playtime. All those commercials showing happy mothers tossing their even happier babies into the air. All those happy mothers on those G-rated T.V. shows. For me motherhood spelled exhaustion, frustration, loneliness and emptiness.
I was in a prison. A complete loss of freedom. There was no more me. All I could do was watch the clock and wait until my sentence ended.
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Comment by Parenting Wisdom