Being That Mom

You often hear women say, disparagingly, of each other, “I don’t want to be THAT MOM.” Or with an exhausted envy, “Must be nice to have the money/time/support/whatever to be THAT MOM”.

We spend a lot of time, as moms, talking about “That Mom”. And for me, the concept of “Mom” is so foreign. I was always on the outside looking in at moms, and wondering what having a mom was like, and regretting what I was missing. Or what I believed I was missing. So, perhaps my ideas about what That Mom is may be a bit skewed.

I just know that I think about being That Mom a lot.

I waffle on it, you know. Sometimes I just don’t want to be “That Mom”. Other times, I wish I were “That Mom”. It depends, really.

There are days when I know what it is I want to be for my daughter. I want to be That Mom who hugs and kisses and cuddles her kid at every opportunity. I want to be That Mom who is always baking something and there’s always cookies in the cookie jar and the house always smells warm and comforting. I want to be That Mom who is engaged in her kids’ care and knows how to be part of the process of helping her child learn and grow.

I aspire to be That Mom. I hope to be That Mom.

But it is hard. I know that some days I am That Mom who is too tired to sit on the floor and do the work that That Baby needs to help her meet her developmental milestones. I am That Mom who has things to do and parks her kid in front of a video while she makes supper. I am That Mom who just can’t face another pureed meal, who can’t be patient for another hour-and-a-half lunch, who can’t bring herself to get all dressed up and trudge through the cold and snow and wind for some outdoor time.

I hear the voice of That Mom speaking sharply to That Baby, or dismissing her dramatic sorrows, or sternly telling her to lie down and go to sleep. And I regret being That Mom. Because I know that, if the world could change from wishing, I would be That Mom who doesn’t often raise her voice, and acknowledges all her girl’s feelings, and has no problems going in and cuddling her when she is having trouble falling asleep.

But I am not.

I dream of being That Mom who is young and fit enough to never tire of chasing her child about and playing with her. I dream of being That Mom who is always engaged and doing crafts and teaching her child and being inclusive about cooking together and making cakes and cleaning up. I dream of being That Mom who keeps a clean house while having meaningful and fulfilling work and hobbies and doing volunteer work. I dream of being That Mom who is slim and fashionable and well-liked and always has a kind word for others.

I will never be That Mom.

I am That Mom who is always dressed in sweats and has a ponytail. I am That Mom who speaks loudly and laughs even louder and cannot carry a tune in a bucket but sings all the time anyway. I am That Mom who procrastinates on paperwork and worries about choices. I am That Mom who has few friends and even fewer interests outside her home.

I am afraid that my daughter will look at me from a distance one day and be embarassed that she was saddled with That Mom.

But I am what I am. I am That Mom who lives large and loves hard and dreams big and fails spectacularly. I am That Mom who cries many tears and dresses badly and holds many hopes in her heart.

I am That Mom who will always have a hug for her daughter and will be proud of her every day and wants nothing more from her than for her to come home safely at the end of every day.

Whatever else I am or am not or dream of being or never will be, I am That Mom who loves her child more than anything on this earth.