Expectations will kill you.
They’re the big cloudy hopeful dream standing in front of you, that never is quite within your grasp. You have a wonderful four days off looming, and those, by golly, will come and go, but the dream of all what can be done, could be done, will be done… will not, actually, be done. The list is a pipe dream anyway, a wish on a dandelion, a shoulda-woulda-coulda kind of thing. And yet…
And yet we still dream the mother effin dream, still build the tower of expectations, still hope that we are as perfect and productive as we set out to be.
The book that doesn’t get read.
The blog that doesn’t get written… the checkbook that doesn’t get balanced… the adventures that don’t get experienced… the taxes that don’t get filed… the walks that don’t get taken… the baking that doesn’t get done… the cleaning that doesn’t get cleaned… the Everest that doesn’t get climbed.
It’s enough to drive you insane and feed the ever living flames of Not Enough, Not Enough, Not Enough… that is burned into your skull. Beating from the inside, from the outside, in through the ears from everyone around, in through the eyes from all the body language, but mostly from my own heart Buh Bump, Buh Bump, Buh Bump.
Four days come and go and the Guilt that was not invited has moved in and consumed all the oxygen. I can’t pick up the book, not enough time. I can’t file the taxes, not enough brain power. Can’t take the walk, no energy. Can’t bake the cookies, feeling too bloated anyway. Can’t move, can’t stop thinking, can’t do anything because it will not end up being ENOUGH.
Big fucking expectations, is this just part of the human condition? Can I train them away? Will I ever be happy with the stuff I AM able to get done? The other handful of things I DO accomplish? The tiny moments with the kids that DID make my heart happy? The chasing the dog in the backyard, the brunch and movies with the girls, the resting, the company, the pictures captured of the little one and the dog cuddling? These all fill me up. Why aren’t THEY what are overtaking my space?
I am Love.
I am Mom.
I am a hard worker and I deserve four days off.
Four days off that are actually days off, not full of boring bullshit.
I am a fucking superhero some days, and by golly if that’s not enough then what the hell more can I ask of myself for fuck’s sake. There isn’t anything more than being there for my girls. Being a mom. Being Love.