I’ve been wondering lately when is this whole parenting thing going to start? I’m talking the daily life lessons, meaningful conversations, and heartfelt moments I will look back on years from now thinking how blessed my life is. I find myself daydreaming about what Twila is going to look like, what she will be interested in, and the type of personality she will have.
Sleep, munch, sleep, poop, munch, munch, munch. Rinse and repeat. I feel like a long-term babysitter waiting for her real mom to get home.
Don’t get me wrong. I absolutely adore my daughter. I believe we have sufficiently bonded. This is not a cry for help because I’m silently dealing with PPD. I simply don’t feel like a parent.
Before you tell me that I need to cherish this time I have with her because they grow up so fast, I do. There are times that I thoroughly enjoy her company. However, this is not the most exciting age.
We have passed the honeymoon phase. There is an established routine. I am now anxiously waiting for the next milestone. Staying true to my impatient nature it can’t come fast enough.
I am excited for that roll to happen or the first word to slip out. Heck, I would be thrilled to hear a real laugh. Unfortunately, that excitement is being drowned out by anger and frustration at the moment.
This anger is not directed toward her or anyone else. It is all mine. I am going back to school in January after taking this semester off. Just in time for all the fun stuff to start developing.
I am angry because I should have finished school long ago. Probably 5 years ago if I hadn’t been so distracted by finding the “perfect” man and getting repeatedly stomped on by each contender. While my love life was failing so were my grades.
Boys weren’t the only problem. Far from it. Being an independent woman I lived on my own which required a full-time job. I tried to go to school full-time but it usually ended in dropping classes wasting both time and money so I went half-time for a while.
In the midst of all this struggle add in my poor self-esteem. This caused me to switch majors a few times. My reasoning always being I don’t have what it takes to do this. I’m not creative enough. Blah blah blah. I’ve even been considering changing it again because I don’t think I’ll be a good teacher. I won’t though. I’m NOT going to do that to myself again. I’m finally somewhat close to graduating. It’s still not close enough to make me happy about it.
Bottom line is if Twila decides she’s ready to roll over, say “Mommy”, or take those precious first steps while I’m sitting in class I will never forgive myself. I don’t know how all the single working moms out there do it. I have nothing but respect for you and I envy your strength and courage.