Really, there are times you shouldn't ask what you're wondering. Don't ask questions if there is a chance the answer will be something you don't want to hear. I've often shared that tidbit with folks. Today, I did not take my own advice.
After a particularly demoralizing morning in the department of mothering, I felt like a let-down. I am nothing like the mother I had hoped or imagined to be. I'm not "coochie-coo" or "let me just stare into your baby eyes" nor do I chirp "time to nurse!" I was never depressed for more than a total of 10 minutes about the six years for which I was labeled "infertile." I don't bound out of bed in the morning in anticipation of playing with my kids. In fact, any chance I get, I hand the baby and the toddler off to play with their dad. I was quietly thinking about these things while rocking the infant who would let me do nothing but sit, rock, and think.
I wondered something. I got up and walked into the bathroom where the husband was getting ready for the day and casually asked him, "Are you disappointed that the woman you married is not the kind of mother you thought she'd be?"
I guess I asked hoping to hear some comforting words like "you'll grow into it" or "there are different kinds of mothers" or "I didn't have any expectations either way."
Instead, I got, "A little bit" and a kiss on the top of the head while he rubbed lotion into his hands. I looked down at the baby in my arms to hide the shiny wet film forming over my eyeballs and quietly walked out of the room.
Ouch. Who likes to be a disappointment to any extent?
That's what I get for asking.
Happy Mother's Day to me.