Not the Motherhood of My Dreams

Sometimes, when things are hard and I’m feeling really down, I think about how different motherhood has been from what I had imagined. Of course I knew that it wasn’t always easy;  parenting is more than chocolate chip pancakes on Sunday’s and blanket forts during summer thunderstorms. I knew parenting had plenty of challenges and difficulties. But, sometimes, when I let my guard down, when I feel like I have been stripped of every last vestige of sanity, I wonder how different motherhood would be if my children were biologically mine. It might be the same. Things might be just as complicated, but in my weakened state it seems like a child with my green eyes and sandy blonde hair would not have a diagnosis that caused such destructive behaviors. Maybe it’s just easy to blame it all on foster care and adoption. So often I sit and think about what I’ve done and what I do as a parent that causes or allows my children to make such poor choices and act so unhinged. Is it me? Would my children be better off in a dual parent home, with two attentive adults tag-teaming their special needs? Would it be easier to endure the crushing blows of “he had another bad day” if there were someone else to shoulder the blame? I have no way of knowing. I can’t let the dreams of what could have been discolor the good things about what is. I can’t resent my children because they are not like me and do not have my genetic disposition. They had no voice or choice in how they came to be adopted or what traits they inherited.

 

My kids are not easy to parent. When I attempt to do what I believe is a simple chore, it often turns into an arduous task laden with frustration. I repeat myself incessantly and redirect so often I sometimes wonder if I’m still speaking English to my children. Grocery shopping, stopping in a store to “quickly” buy an item, stopping for gas, going to the chiropractor after work, talking to an acquaintance we meet out and about, clothing shopping, doctor’s visits, evaluations, voting; none of these things are easy to do with my kids. The last time I had the kids with me at the chiropractor I was mortified at their behaviors. They would not listen to me, they would not stop yelling and running around, they touch things they should not touch and they never, ever sit still. Never. Ever. Even doing fun things can be difficult if they are expected to wait or if they cannot do exactly what they want to do (hang off the railing or run, or jump on something, or climb on something). It wears me down. I think carefully about what things we do for fun and how willing I would be to leave in the middle of it, if the kids really spiral out of control. Our life is complicated and I feel like a ring master, keeping the tigers at bay with a whip and a chair. It isn’t easy. And, while I wish I could take a break, the hassle and stress of trying to find someone capable of “handling” my kids is not an easy task.