What if. . . clowns could fly?

24 01 2008

picture-29.jpg Obviously they can’t, but what mother can’t help but think “What if. . . .” There really are a million combinations of this. What if I don’t read to my kids enough? Will they have a harder time learning to read? What if I don’t spend enough quality time with my son? Will he turn out to be unloving, non-hugging, and heartless child? What if my lack of the intelligence, grace, and beauty gene makes me child spiteful towards me for “ruining” their lives? Ultimately, What if I’m not good enough?

In which my loving and adoring boyfriend says, “But you are above and beyond good enough. You are beautiful, smart, and great.”

My response, “You have to say those things. You’re my boyfriend.”

I know myself. I know every lie I’ve ever told. Every secret I hide deep inside. Every weakness no one thinks I have. Every aspect that I am weak and lack, and how much I had to struggle to make up for those weakness just to have everyone think I’m ahead.

I’ve done some amazing things. I’ve accomplished at least several hundred goals. I’ve pushed myself beyond limits I never knew I had. I’ve done things that no one thought was possible.

But at what cost?

I have no real regrets. Only superficial ones.

It would be so easy for me to blame my mother for everything I lack. Though in my heart it is the truth, but in life there is no easy path, no easy answer.

I spent the greater majority of my night pondering on all my weaknesses. Wondering and figuring out why they are my weaknesses. Where did it come from? Why can’t I make them my strengths? Why does it kill me on some days and others it never enters my mind? My ultimate answer, my mother.

I do everything in my power to not be my mother. But how do I know I’m not her? How do I know I’m not hurting my son in the same way? How do I know I’m raising my son the absolute best I can when I never had the greatest or slightest bit of what a caring mom is? Why do I let my mom have so much power over me? How do I stop her from hurting me? How can she be my mom? How can she have been so selfish? How can she not think she damaged all of us? How am I, or my brothers, or my sister ever feel the least bit ‘ok’?

I don’t. No answers.

That scares me.

I don’t want this curse on my son. I want to get through the day feeling like I really am the best mom in my world.

I am to send my son to Kindergarten when I feel like he is lacking “something” because of me. What? No clue.

Growing up we are supposed to know what a great parent is by following in our parent’s steps. Build off the foundation and steps our parents have provided for us. We learn to love, provide, and support the ones we love from the love and support we were given. What happens when we grew up without that?

We become the people that influence us the most growing up. Even when the people that influenced us were bad.

I will never have to worry about my son making me proud, because I already am. I am waiting for the day, where my son will be proud of me. Proud to call me his mom. Proud to be a part of my life.

I want to change my stripes.

One day. . . . . I will.

I am so attached I’m scared

11 10 2007

When I put my son to bed I feel 1 of 2 things. First being, “whew finally asleep and some peace and quiet. Time to clean house.” Second, there goes another day older. Another day away from being my precious baby. Of course the second feeling being the most common.

I wish we didn’t have to sleep. That we could just live without. Then it would be an extra 6-10 hours a day I could spend being closer to my son. Every night I am so afraid that I’m missing something. I don’t know what, but I know I just hate (and love) that there are days that I am so amazed by how much he has grown and how mature he is now. He isn’t my tiny 22 inches, 9 lbs 3.3 ounce baby anymore. He’s this 3 feet 3 inches and 35lbs little man. Who yesterday told me he loved his new outfits from Wal-mart because it was so “gangsta”, lol.

I will not deny the fact that I love watching my son grow up and slowly (but not slow enough) become this amazing little man. It’s all going way too fast for me. I don’t have enough memory sticks to take enough photos, I’ve been way to lame to buy a camcorder to record the last 2 years of his life, and I don’t have nearly enough energy to keep up 24/7.

So he lays here next to me and as I look at him I wonder “what happened the last 3 years 10 months and 2 days because I could have sworn I just brought you home with me for the first time yesterday. ” I sit here with tears in my eyes, although there is joy in my heart fear resides there next to it. I’m scared of him growing up too fast. I want him to be my little baby forever. I know it’s never possible and ridiculous to say, but I know that play dates will evolve into sleep overs, friends will turn into girlfriends, pres-school turns will turn into high school, and those damn girlfriends will turn into wives who are stealing my baby away from me!

Maybe that last part wasn’t necessary but dammit it’s true. But all I can do is try to capture as many if not all the memories I can and accept the fact that he will grow up, but no matter what he will always be my baby. My number 1. My everything.

Now I wonder how old he will be when he kicks ME out of HIS bed.