Super Mom

Super Mom, Nah, not me!

When I first saw the firstborn, I was completely and totally smitten.  Fresh baby skin smells better than Chanel 5 or even sex.  That is the truth. I fell in love and swore I would be the best mother ever!

Such ambition, such resolutions are like begging providence – “Alright throw some shit at me, make me fail.”  And I did. Always.

My boy’s uniform was not the best, crispy starched. It could have missing buttons; the zip could have given way. It was like that. No excuses. I just could not cope! I had lost a much loved brother, my marriage was sinking fast, I was depressed, eating like a pig and weeping. On the top of that I had another baby, this one lactose intolerant to such a degree that he could not digest mother’s milk.

Damn! There come the excuses, the explanations. We are like that, aren’t we? Always judging, always hoping we don’t fail, always wanting to be the best parent ever. No one is going to give us a medal. Not even the kids we love and are striving for. They are going to demand our souls and then point out some shit we did in 1500 B. C. and tell us they are so hurt about it. Judgmental, manipulative and self centered little snots they are!

So was I a shitty mom?

Am I a shitty mom?

Honestly I don’t care.

Age brings with it confidence. Since you have been around for such a long time, living with yourself, you don’t give a rat’s ass about what people think of you. You are confident in your own skin. If I see someone else’s home, neat, well furnished and sparkling I love it.  I would be happy to spend the rest of my life in it, provided they did the cleaning. It is as simple as that!  I leave for office at 9 and reach back by 7 in the evening if lucky. My home is a mess. It has always been. I can only do so much.

There was a time it bothered me, other moms kept their kids in such a clean home. Other moms could give their kids hot lunches and halwa too. Mine had to heat cold food in the microwave and then eat it. Other kids’ mothers sewed buttons back on the shirts; I did not have the time. Frankly, I did not have the energy either; I kept meaning to do it. I went on huge guilt trips. Some of my co-workers are still going through them. They are young and have small kids. If one has paid for a school sponsored trip to Katmandu, the rest vociferously defend their stance of not sending their kids so far away. If one of them breast feeds the baby and another can’t, they stop being friends.

Is there a world wide pageant being held that I know nothing about? Something which announces,“The Super Mom for this year is (gasp) YOU!” And pays you loads of money and you get to go on a fully paid year long cruise trip with the kids?

Seriously darlings, there is no prize, there is no name and fame, there is no competition.  So stop it.  Just be the best you, that you can be.  My two Gods nailed it, you know.  My greatest God is Dr. Suess who said :

To cut the long story short, I listened to my God Dr. Suess and gave up trying to be perfect.  I just tried to be me.

So, was I a shitty mom?

Am I a shitty mom?

Who the hell cares?  I loved my boys, still love them.  I have been there for them, brought them up the best I could.  And much to their annoyance, have given up being Mom, and reverted to being me.  Yeah, they still want a parent to blame all their deficiencies on and want to park all their problems at my doorstep.  I understand, but sweethearts I quit.

Yes, I quit!  Now I enjoy them more.

P.S. If you’re wondering, my other greatest God is the Mad Hatter.  He danced the best Jabberwocky I’ve ever seen and he said.

Ritu Lalit is the author of two novels, A Bowlful of Butterflies published by Rupa & Co., and Hilawi published by Popular Prakashan. She is a single parent and blogs at www.phoenixritu.com