What do you choose to be today?

“M-I-I-I-L-L-K!”

“M-I-I-I-L-L-K!”

I wearily open one eye, and cover my head with the pillow. Maybe he’ll go back to sleep. There is silence for a few minutes, and then he bellows again, sounding for all the world like a cow.
“MOMMY M-I-I-I-L-K!”
I love him. I really love him, but right now I’m just pissed! It’s 6:30 in the morning, and he’s up already. He didn’t go to bed till after 10 last night, so he should be tired. But no, he’s awake yelling for milk. If I don’t hurry and honor his demands, he’ll wake the other one up.
I roll out of bed, and quickly enter the room they share.
“I want milk money” he says in a plaintive loud whine.
“Shh!” I respond glancing furtively over at his sister’s crib. Fortunately she’s still asleep. I stare back into the face of my almost three year old little boy.
Pure anger courses through my veins, and for just a half of a second, maybe a millisecond, I want to spank him.
The urge to punish him for waking me up, goes away just as fast as it came, but my hostility still remains. I never could understand how parents could abuse their children, but I can see how it starts.
I’m so tired. Why won’t he just go back to sleep? He can’t be that damn thirsty at 6:30am. Why is he so needy?! All these thoughts flying through my mind, as I stare down at his little face.
“Are you angry mommy?” he asks innocently as only a child can.
Shame replaces my hostility.
“No, mommy’s not angry” I lie.
“We have to be quiet” I say. “We don’t want to wake sister up”.
“Are you sad?” he whispers taking my hand and getting out of his train bed.
I think about his question for a moment, and then I answer.
“Yes Miles. Mommy’s sad” I answer honestly.
My eyes well up with tears, as I recognize the truth of this statement.
I am sad.
Somewhere in between marriage and kids, I’ve lost myself, and it saddens me.
I’m not me anymore.
I’m someone’s wife, someone’s mommy, but I don’t exist outside these titles.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Marriage and motherhood was supposed to enrich my life, make it better, and complete me. I must admit I imagined being a stay-at-home mother, was going to be a breeze.
I figured I’d love on my kids all day, while preparing elaborate meals for my husband, and keeping an immaculate home. In my downtime (yeah, I thought I’d have downtime) I would pursue my writing career, and in my spare time (yep, dumb me thought their would be spare time) I would go to school and finish a degree. My home would be like a preschool for my little ones. I vowed to rarely turn the television on, as I myself would fill their minds with books and knowledge.
I’d be a regular Joan Cleaver I thought, remembering the reruns of “Leave it to Beaver”. Except unlike Joan I’d also be career minded. I imagined my husband coming home to me looking exceptionally fly and sexy. I imagined I would greet him at the door with a cup of tea, and then once I settled him comfortably, I would draw him a bath. Yeah I used the word “draw’. That’s how out of touch with reality I was.
I would be a triple threat. An exceptional wife, mother, and career women. Oh yeah, and I’d also be in exceptional shape, because I’d be working out everyday.
Yeah right! What I didn’t plan on was the reality of life. First of all, two kids under three do not equal an immaculate home. It equals, toys strewn all over the place, and me struggling to put them away just as quickly as they pull them out. I didn’t count on trying to grocery shop with children for these elaborate meals, or the mountain of laundry that had to be completed on a daily basis.
I didn’t figure in the number of diaper changes that had to take place, or that by the time I fixed breakfast, snack, lunch, snack and dinner, and then served breakfast, snack, lunch, snack and dinner, and then cleaned up after breakfast, snack, lunch, snack and dinner, that I would be dog tired, and half the day would be gone.
I didn’t realize that the only time I could pursue my writing career was while the kids napped, or if they napped. But nap time produced too many decisions. Do I cook dinner? Do I clean the home? Do I do laundry? Do I sleep? Do I eat breakfast/lunch? Do I workout? Do I shower and get dressed? Or do I write? I never imagined that I would begin to use the television as a babysitter in order to get things accomplished, and then feel disgusted that my babies had watched television all day.
I didn’t plan on my husband coming home later, and later each evening. For someone has to make the money. Nor did I count on the feeling of uselessness I would feel at not bringing anything of monetary value into the home. Or the hints by my husband, that he was the one providing for our family, not myself so money making decisions were more so his department.
My job as he often reminds is to take care of him, the family, and the home. “You can do you, when they go to school” he tells me, not trying to be selfish, but not realizing how selfish this sounds.
What we don’t say out loud, is the truth. Which is; I will never be able to “just do me”. Neither one of us will ever be able to just “do us”. There is no me or him after marriage and kids, only “them”. He’s stuck just like I am stuck.
Tears stream down my face, as I pour my son’s milk into his red racecar cup. I mourn the pitiful state my life has become. Marriage and children have sucked every drop of life from me. My days consists of shuffling behind my children obeying their every wish, and cleaning and cooking, only to clean and cook again.
I am sad.
My little one, tugs at my robe.
“Mommy?”
“Yes Miles”
“Hug?” he says opening his little arms for me.
I get down to his level, and accept his love. His unconditional love. He knows nothing but me and the people that love him. He only knows emotions in their simplest forms. How can I not appreciate that? Is his care and well being not my most important job? Is he not worth losing myself?
Yes he is.
I hug him, and smile.
“You happy mommy” he asks smiling.
“Yes, I’m happy Miles” I answer. And at this moment I am.
“MAMA MILK!”
“MAMA MILK!” another little voice yells from the bedroom. She is up, and she is more demanding than the other one. Much more active, and much harder to control. She smiles when she sees me. She is happy.
Life is what it is.
You either choose to be happy or you choose to be sad, or you choose to be angry.
Yet each moment brings a different choice. I guess the key is not to linger to long within one emotion or within one moment.
Life is what it is. For the majority of this day, I choose to be happy

I wrote this last year after a rough morning but this is still me every other morning.

My question today. Is motherhood what you thought it would be?