It's Monday. I'm trying to print the rest of the forms we need for tax filing, but I'm having difficulty determining which pages we will need of all 95 or so. So, here I am taking a break.
Congratulations on having the dog of your dreams. I think she's pretty great and I'm glad that it pleases you so much to have a dog. The first few days with her were stressful for me, but not at her fault. Mostly, my inability to deal with stress is my own fault. The majority of my stress has to do with my inability to handle my own children. So my announcement that I wasn't ready to have a baby had little to do with a dog and much more to do with problems between me and the boys (or just Gerret) combined with my own weakness for feeling overwhelmed and/or hopeless.
Sometimes I feel frustrated with myself that being a mother doesn't seem to come naturally like I thought it would. I worry that I don't feel attached to my children in the way I'm supposed to. Somedays I just feel stuck doing something that I'm not good at and I don't enjoy.
These feelings go against every desire I had growing up. They go against what is preached about women and their innate, even divine abilities and calling in life. They make me feel fairly worthless. As much as I fight these feelings, they are still real. I think you experience similar feelings connected to your situation, but your discontent or frustration is acceptable. You aren't supposed to be a teller. Perhaps there isn't any particular thing you are "supposed" to be and even if there is, you can figure it out and probably feel satisfied when you do. But for me, there is one thing in particular to be. I am supposed to be a mother and that's it. I can be good at other things (if I have time and resources to do those things), I can be of service to other people (if time and resources allow it), I can have a world of experiences (provided the time and resources), but I am a mother before any of it. Nothing else I could do matters if I'm a crappy mother or if I'm a good mother, but resent it.
So on particularly hard days, I reconsider the prospect of inviting another spirit into our family because I feel like I'm already failing. Other days, I get the old feeling back that I'm supposed to be a mom: therefore, I should continue onward and hope that I'll catch on to how to cheerfully accomplish it. I just hope that if I do this, motherhood will morph into the wonderful, magical experience that I was prepared for and somehow missed.
I know I'm crazy and I'm sorry. Thanks for sticking with me anyway. I don't like to be what I am, but I'm hopeful that I can change, even if it takes a lifetime. Maybe having ten kids would set me straight. Maybe it would actually require fifteen. We should get busy. Seriously, when I think that there are women who have accomplished this feat, I feel a little sick. I can't even handle the rising of the sun. You are amazing to get up in the morning and make everything happen that should. I love you for it and for your patience with me (every morning and all the rest of the time). I just love you for everything and I love everything about you. I wonder at the miracle of you allowing yourself to be a part of me. How or why that happened and seemingly so seamlessly is beyond my comprehension. I just accept it as one of the most apparent blessings in my life. Thank you, thank you dear sir. I love you in a way that I never could have imagined seven years ago when I met you. I hope you will continue to miraculously love me.
From, Your Lady.
