The plans I had. They were epic. I could see myself, the ever laughing mum, the one that whizzes around, fixing things, baking and making things with my children, planning days out, family holidays, spending Summer evenings socialising with my husband and friends….
I envy those mums, the ones who seem to have been given the perfect children, the ones who, at the drop of a hat can find a sitter and head off out. The ones who can pile their darlings into the car and drive off to the beach for an afternoon. The ones who can plan a family holiday. An actual FAMILY holiday. I was supposed to be her. I am not even near her.
I know no one has the prefect, anything. I’m well aware that what we see in public or on social media sites are just snippets of their portrayed lives- let’s face it we all do it!
Even those mums,the mum I was supposed to be, want to run away from it all, probably due to the stress of keeping up with their children’s social activities, school activities and commitments, having arguments over silly things with their now ‘know-it-all’ child,money worries, work worries, marriage worries, the list is endless really, for any parent not just mums.
I wish I could have an argument with my almost 13 year old son over an up coming school disco. I wish I could plan a family holiday without needing to use a respite service for my son. I wish I could bundle my three boys into a car and drive off for a ‘mommy and boys’ day out. I wish I could bring my son to the shop, without making a plan with my 10 year old, on what to do ‘if this happens’ or what to do ‘when this happens’. I wish I could go to the cinema with my husband. I wish we could all go to the cinema as a family. I wish I could go out and socialise with my friends once a month, without feeling guilty about leaving my tired husband at home, alone with all three kids. I wish my husband and I could go out together with our friends without explaining why we would like to go out and begging for sitters and respite.
I wish, so deeply, sometimes that I wasn’t this mum, that I got the ‘other’ kids, the ones you see arguing with their moms because they don’t like the dinner, or that their mum embarrassed them or that they’d really like to see a movie with their friend.
But, that’s not me and I am not that mum. I am a little bit of that mum to J and hopefully baby D, in time, I’ve to accept I will never be that mum to Ethan. Ever. And you know, that’s a hard pill to swallow. It’s not easy or brave being a mum like me, it’s hard, harder than you can imagine and it’s full of ‘what the hell do I do now’; doubt, I guess you’d call it. It can also be full of envy. That’s the ugly truth no special need parent will ever say, but it is there. Envy. Sometimes, I even want to approach people and tell them how lucky they are that their child is misbehaving in public,or how lucky they are that their child understands them and can communicate. I wouldn’t ever dare do that, of course, but the urge can creep up from time to time, especially when a stranger approaches me and tells me I need to control my child. I’ll never be that mum,person or stranger, that’s a promise.
We are each dealt a hand, that’s what I’m told anyway. I don’t know about that. I am lucky to be a mum- yes, yes I agree with that, especially when there are so many people out there who want a child, who deserve a child.
So I am not the mum I thought I would be. I wonder sometimes, are any of us?