stargazerlily

Being a mom is hard. Being a mom of a toddler is not so much hard the way I imagine being the mom of a second-grader is hard, nor the way being the mom of a 15-year-old is hard, nor, certainly, the way being the mom of a thirty-three-year-old who doesn't tell you she has optic neuritis is hard, but it's hard. It's physically tiring, and it has the added joy of Perfect Mama Guilt.

Perfect Mama Guilt, or PMG, is not limited to the Waldorf community or the AP community or the breastfeeding community, I'm sure. There are many kings of PMG. I suffer from the kind that makes me feel like a bad, bad mother for letting my kid eat ice cream for dinner last night, for not having him playing outside more, for not being engaged in "meaningful" work (read here, physical labor or household tasks or crafts) in his presence, for talking to him too intellectually, and for yelling when he won't stop whining because he hasn't slept enough because he's 16 months old and doesn't sleep through the night yet and because weekends are not his usual routine and it's hard to nap and..

PMG also manifests in my feeling sorry for myself that I don't get to play with my friends because my house is too untidy and there is too much laundry. I have two diapers from three days ago still waiting to be, ahem, dumped and rinsed. I don't even try anymore. I don't go out to see people. I don't invite them over. Because then, when would I do the laundry?

The worst part about PMG is that it sneaks up on me. I'll be rolling along, remembering to take the dog for walks, trying to keep teh kid's nose booger-free, changing diapers before they're too soggy to lift, and feeding A meals that at least don't make me want to hide my face in shame, and then BOOM, a day comes by like yesterday, and I'm so tired, so, so tired. I drive him around for two hours in the car because I can't deal with trying to extricate him from the carseat where he has fallen asleep, head at an awkward angle, because then he would wake up, and getting him to nap is sometimes an Olympic event. I'm ready to scream, and do, a little, when he keeps toddling into the room where I'm trying to scoop the cat litter that's been sitting for four days, and wants to sweep with the big broom, which we all know is a shattered light fixture waiting to happen, or worse, reach in and play with the litter in the box because it's fun and sandy. I eat a big bowl of Ben and Jerry's for dinner, and feed him spoonfuls whenever he whines. and then I wonder why he won't fall asleep until 9. Jeez.

SO I'm trying to ignore my PMG. My sweet little son just nursed to sleep, and I slid him into his bed. He's been lying there, snoring lightly for ten whole minutes. Rabbits are playing in the backyard. My overly nervous dog is actually acting calm and secure, thanks to a nice long walk earlier. at some point today I will go to the grocery store, where I will buy food that is nourishing for my family, and for myself, and for the friends we've promised meatloaf to -- some so that they can relax and enjoy their 3-week-old daughter, one who is going to fix my car or M's car or someone's car -- and I will maybe even put away the clean diapers.

Because PMG stems from exhaustion, and it leads to self-loathing, and to depression, and to helplessness, and to self-pity, and to inertia and clutter and merry-go-round of messy house overwhelm.

I was exchanging messages recently with a woman who is part of another online community I belong to. We were bemoaning the way that certain "mommy bloggers" (ugh) in the homeschooling and Waldorf world seem to have it all perfect, from the perfect wooden toys and wooly hats for their adorable, rose-cheeked offspring, to their hand-sewn tablecloths and perfect needle-felted animals and gnomes on their plant-dyed silk nature table meadows. Waldorf isn't supposed to be about having all this perfect STUFF. It's about something else entirely. Is it ideal for a child to be surrounded by natural fibers and objects, by toys that encourage their input and imaginative contributions, by a world that is secure and simple and informed by the rhythm of the seasons and by the predictable day-to-day rhythms of the home? Of course it is! But how on earth are kids served by harried, self-depricating parents who are hung up on whether their rooms are "Waldorf enough"?

PMG makes me itchy. It makes me irritable. It is directly related to PWG (perfect wife guilt) and PTG (perfect teacher guilt) and other P*Gs. I want it to go away and leave me in peace to clear off my desk, to call a friend, to clean up the dog poop in the back yard today or not.

And really, I'm a pretty damned good mother. and a damned good wife. and a damned good teacher and friend and daughter. Could I do more, be better, reach out more, consider myself less, give more, be happier by choice? Well, duh! Of course I could. And it's okay not to be there yet. This is why I never excelled at the piano, or the viola, or the french horn. I wanted to play beautifully NOW, and I couldn't deal with the painful recognition of my beginner status that practice reinforced, even though practicing is what would make me better. You see? The only way to be a Perfect Mama is to be an IMPERFECT ONE, with gusto, and to make little changes WHEN I WANT TO.

So first change? I'm clearing off my desk. And then I'm going to unearth the kitchen. And I might watch a dvd while I do it. Don't tell the Waldorf police -- I might even watch the DVD after the kid wakes up.