For as long as I can remember, I have always wanted to be a Mum. As a little
girl, playing house was the only game I liked. In high school, I would forego
nights out with friends to babysit. I spent my college years naming my future
kids, collecting tiny blankets and ruffled outfits.
Becoming a Mum wasn’t as easy for me as I’d hoped. There were years we
were sure it would happen any day, that plus sign on a stick. But it never did.
So while it took a little longer and we went a route that was different than
originally planned, the day my daughter pulled into my driveway in 2007, I felt
like I was born. Here she was. And she was perfect. Everything I’d ever dreamed of.
At the time, I had just graduated from college and had recently landed my first
real job. My husband on the other hand was a youth pastor at our church.
His schedule was much more flexible than mine and without much thought to it,
he became the main caretaker of our little miracle girl. Andrew took that baby
everywhere with him. He’d plop her on his desk for meetings, strap on a baby
carrier to go to the student’s football games, and never once complained
about his sidekick.
When Josie turned two, we decided to switch life up a bit and Andrew and I
totally changed places. He entered a demanding career path and I quit my job
to be a full time stay at home mum. The next year we added another sweet
babe to our family.
I took my role as Mum very seriously. I planned out their days, their outfits,
their lives. I was used to my days being very scheduled and structured so
that’s how I ran my new gig. I prided myself on not needing to ever, ever, ever
ask for help from anyone. I secretly loved the accolades I got when I traveled
to Florida for a two week Disney/Beach vacation by myself with the kids which
required massive planning and balancing of playpens and carseats and prams.
Over the next few years I did what a lot of mums do, I started to find my
identity in caring for my kids. I became too proud to accept help. Who was I if
not Josie and Gabe’s Mum? What did it say about me if I asked for
time for myself? After waiting for these kids for so long, how could I pass any moments
off to someone else? I felt that nobody could do things as well as I could when
it came to my kids. Not even their Dad. Which I am so embarrassed to say now.