Our Life Is Not A Rehearsal

As woman, a mother and a member of society, I am constantly bombarded by images of what I should want, what I should feel. I feel as though I'm in a continuous whirlwind of trying to keep up .  I can easily get lost down the rabbit hole of beautiful blogger mommies that seem to have it all together. Their houses perfect, enormous. Their hair and make up, flawless. Their children, poised and beautifully dressed. Their clothes, trendy. Their crafts and DIY projects, genius. Their husbands, involved, successful. 
Then the comparison begins. Which leads me to needing wanting more things. I don't want to instill a false sense of value in my child to lead her to believe that this new dress will make her prettier. This expensive toy will improve her life tenfold. Turning at this angle will make for a better picture. In reality, that's simply not true.
My life is anything but perfect. My modest house is in a constant state of disarray, with clean laundry waiting ever so patiently to be put away, dishes that need to be washed, left over nibbles of cat food in the corner, unmade beds, toys in every crevice, projects to finish, pictures to be hung, crafts to start. 
I've created this space to document our journey together as a family. I don't want to document staged photos, or conveniently placed props. I want Anabelle to look back and see what her life was really like; scroll through authentic memories. Memories that weren't forced. Memories that weren't set up, because it would make for a great photographic moment. 
My drive as a mother does not involve object or things we have. It involves the experiences we share together, who we are as a family, who we are as individuals, who we are as children of God. He loves us in our magnificent, imperfect form. He leads our family in truth, light, love and positivity. That is what our life is about. 
Our life is chaotic, humbling, awe-inspiring and real in it's most raw form. Every moment captured of this life that we share as a family is a beautiful one. These are the memories that we intend to share with all of you, because our life is not a rehearsal. 

Working Mommy Guilt

In 2007, I landed my first real job as a college graduate. I poured my heart and soul in this job, worked long hours, even overnight, researched with every fiber of my being in an attempt to be a top notch employee. After five plus years I got pregnant and I had no plans on slowing down. After all, I've been following this career path for half a decade. Five weeks into my maternity leave, I felt the push from my boss to return to work. At nine weeks, I put my daughter in daycare full time. It was one of the worst experiences of my life.  I would cry on my way to work, during a brief bathroom break, on my way home. For about three solid months, I was leaving work early because I just couldn't take it. I missed my baby girl, and felt this indescribable emptiness when I was apart from her. Yes, it got easier over time; but the pain? It's an overwhelming, all-consuming envelope of heartache. Of disappointment. Of failure. Every.single.day. I hated the idea of someone else raising my child, someone else giving her hugs and kisses throughout the day, watching her develop and progress, hearing her giggles and screams. I still cry on my way to work when I have to drop her off. I still cry in the bathroom when I'm alone because I miss her so. I cry when no one is looking so my husband doesn't see. I cry when I fall asleep at night knowing I have to leave her the next morning. In the morning, we laugh and sing, because mommy is happy. Everything is fine.

During the weekdays, I get to see her a few hours each day. I relish the brief fifteen minutes I get to see her face when she wakes up in the morning. After I pick her up from daycare, we come home, make dinner, eat dinner, play for about an hour, and get ready for bed. On Fridays, we party since it's the weekend. And by party, I mean throw a dance off to random music on Spotify, like "Fancy."  I pack our weekends with as many fun-filled activities as I can think of and feel guilty if we aren't doing some kind of activity with her. I'm replacing my guilt with arts and crafts for kids, daily outings, the splash pad, and anything I can to help us all forget the impending week ahead. See, baby, mommy is happy. Everything is fine.

Meanwhile, my house is a constant state of disarray. I can never keep up with the amount of laundry or cat hair we seem to have. Nothing is every put in it's place and my floor needs to be mopped. There is never enough time to complete daily chores. At the end of the day, I do not have the energy to clean up anything more than the kitchen. Not only do I feel like a failure as a mother, but I feel like I'm failing as wife.  Well stay home, you say. Unfortunately, that's just not feasible for us, even if we removed all the "extras" we still couldn't make ends meet. My husband has the option of leaving the comfort of his office with a steady paycheck to travel to support our family, but he would sacrifice seeing Anabelle weeks, even months at a time. That's something that my husband just can't fathom.  When I was pregnant, I didn't imagine staying at home with my daughter post-maternity leave. Of course, I would go back to work. Why wouldn't I? It's what parents do. I never imagined it would be a heart-wrenching daily struggle to leave my to daughter to fulfill a stranger's pursuit of happiness at work.  Now, I envy mothers who can stay home with their children. I feel a waive of resentment wash over me when I hear their stories about what their kids did at 10:30 this morning, what a wreck the day was because their child just wouldn't listen and spilled coffee all over their new sweater. I smile through gritted teeth and laugh, praying the jealousy doesn't show on my face. They don't understand how badly I want that life. When Anabelle wakes up this morning, I will put on a brave face for the sake of our family because mommy is okay and everything is fine.