PooGrin | Work at home mom blog – WAHM blog

I’m NOT superwoman?

Posted on 16. Dec, 2009 by Deb Plunkett in Guilt, The balancing act

Crap. Raise your hand if you were one of those girls who, upon first finding out you were pregnant, declared that you would never, ever, ever become one of those moms. You know the ones. They wear worn-out, stretchy black yoga pants and tee shirts absolutely everywhere (thinking they look all chic and sporty but they’re not fooling anyone; those duds haven’t seen the inside of a yoga studio in months). If they’re not wearing running shoes, then they’re wearing some other form of ugly “sensible” mom-shoes. In the rare event that they actually manage to wash and comb their hair, it still ends up in a messy top-knot complete with ground-up Cheerios as accessories.  And speaking of accessories, these moms carry diaper bags this size of Texas as purses. To top it all off, they have bags the size of Texas under their eyes and are in dire need of visit from Sally Hansen.

No, no, no, I was never going to be one of those moms. I was going to get up before the sun, get my morning workout in, shower, put on makeup and look pretty as I glide in my baby’s room with a smile to greet the new day with her. Oh, and yes, I was also going to have a lovely balanced dinner on the table every night, timed perfectly for my adoring husband’s arrival home from a hard day’s work.  Each day was going to be so rewarding and lovely that I’d melt into his arms at night and we’d talk sweet pillow talk… and then, you know, the unmentionable part (come on, my mom might read this blog!).  We’d drift off to sleep blissfully, visions of our plum perfect little family dancing through our heads.

Okay, pick yourself up off the floor now; reattach that ass you just laughed off.

My reality is that look exactly like that mom I swore – SWORE – I would never look like… actually, I think I look worse. I am chronically tired and it shows. My once flat belly has a jiggle that could certainly rival Ol’ Saint Nick. My hair is a frizzy, gray-smattered mess that makes me look dangerously close to a Dr. Seuss character.  I am haggard looking at best. Oh, and I most likely haven’t shaved my legs in well over a week; I may have bad breath and you might just wonder if I misplaced my Secret lately. I am no Martha Stuart/June Cleaver/Carol Brady or whoever the timely reference would be.  I’m certainly not the superwoman I was so certain I would be.

I live my life solely to serve others these days. If I’m not being mommy (which really only means it’s naptime), I’m serving my clients needs. If I’m not doing either of those, I’m doing dishes or laundry or trying to keep a somewhat non-disastrous house. I have not one single second to myself. Not one. Ever. I do everything with a tiny audience of one observing and watching intently. Seriously, everything. I pee, poop, shower, even wax my freakin’ mustache (we’ll save the facial hair talk for another time – because that one could take a while) with her little eyeballs staring at me in amazement.  So consequently, I whittle each of these tasks into speedy, two-minute endeavors that just barely get the job done… that’s if and when I can even fit them in. There’s no dawdling when you’ve got an antsy toddler to entertain.

Perhaps the hardest part about trying to be superwoman 24/7, is that, inevitably, superman, gets pushed farther and farther down the priority list… and if his, ahem, needs aren’t being met, then I’m not really superwoman at all, am I? My days seem to never end because once the little angel is down for the night, it’s time for me to play catch up on the things I inevitably didn’t get to cross of my to-do list for the day. The baby must be taken care of and the client work has to get done. I’m often up well past midnight and I’m so exhausted by the time I hit the sack that I pass out within seconds.

I want to be able to do it all. I really, really do. I’m a chronic people-pleaser and it really sucks when I fail at that. I know I’m a good mom, I think I’m pretty good at my work; but as a wife, perhaps I’m a little subpar (is there a good Tiger joke to put here? Hmmm… nah, that’s already played out).  I worry that this isn’t what he signed up for either… he probably didn’t think life would end up a big cliché any more than I did. Don’t get me wrong, we have a great life but the perfectionist in me thinks it could be more balanced.

Now that I have a little experience under my cape, I know it was naïve to think I could actually be a superhero of any sort… but I just can’t let go of the dream. I still want to be able to do it all. I want the magic superpowers! Anyone know the secret? Anyone?

P.S. Sorry if you came here looking advice… I’ll keep you posted when I get it all figured out (give me about 25 years on that, though)!

Tags: balance, failing, working