The Five Little Ducks Blog

I have been keeping journals, on and off, since I was in primary school. Recently, I decided to read some of my old journal entries. I found a blog-style entry which was written before I even had a blog; not long before our nieces moved in, when Mr E was 4, Miss R was 2 and I was pregnant with Mr J. The entry was entitled “motherhood is not the hardest job in the world”. Provocative, right?

Let’s see if I still agree with my 24 year old mother-of-two self.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

“I have often heard it said that motherhood is the hardest job in the world. I disagree. Before you shower me with abusive thoughts; hear me out.

Motherhood *IS* hard. It is absolutely a very hard job.

Some days motherhood is so hard that I feel like I am working in a hostile war zone. The fighting, the screaming and the tantrums are so intense and unrelenting that I get some kind of PTSD like twitch in my arms. The stress can be so bad that I feel like a synapse in my brain might snap. Certain childish behaviours can be so challenging that it is truly a miracle that my children are still alive at bedtime. Certain tasks are repetitive and boring. Certain tasks are repetitive and boring. Certain tasks are repetitive and boring…

Does anyone actually *like* wiping another person’s poo covered bottom? Do the dirty dishes and piles of washing ever end? Do the floors ever stay swept/mopped/vacuumed? Do the fridge magnets ever stay on the fridge? Is it ever rewarding to spend hours cooking a meal, only for a child to call it disgusting and refuse to eat?

Answer to all of the above= no.

Then there is the tiredness. The strength zapping, body weakening, mind numbing tiredness. You’re not allowed to operate heavy machinery while tired, yet caring for small children while sleep deprived and weary is somehow safe?

I have come to HATE the sound of my children fighting and I do not think that it is an exaggeration to say that the sound of their screaming is at times HORRIFIC. It sounds like someone is being murdered and it is often over the pettiest of things.

Some days I feel like I deserve a friggin’ medal for what I have put up with. Not to mention that I have very little disposable income.

Golly, I think I have made a rather good case for motherhood being the world’s hardest job.

Here’s the thing.

I don’t scrub public toilets in a busy shopping centre. I don’t work in a sweatshop under inhumane conditions for below minimum wage. On days when the weather is truly foul, I can stay in the comfort of my home and put a DVD on for the kids. I don’t work in a hot factory doing a job I hate. I don’t need to scrounge around in a garbage dump to look for something to sell or live in a slum located dangerously close to a train track.

When I look at my cushy, comfortable life in the Western world with plenty of food in the fridge and a safe place to lay my head at night, I feel far too blessed to think for a second that my job is the hardest in the world. And I can’t imagine that a mother in one of those terrible slums or fleeing persecution would look at my life and think, “poor thing, she has the hardest job!”

I spend every day serving and caring for, laughing with and cuddling people who I LOVE. It is my honour and privilege to watch these children grow and to play my part in shaping the adults they are to become.

Being a full time mum with young kids can be great.

I get to sit and build a LEGO spaceship while maintaining a robot persona. I get to have spontaneous hot chip picnics at the park and dance parties in the kitchen. Occasionally, I get to sleep in, or have a lay down with my toddler’s chubby arm around my neck while her big brother is at pre-school.

I am there to make my children breakfast in the morning, and to sing them to sleep at night.

What pride I felt when my beaming son brought home his first ever merit certificate. Oh, the pure joy and peace when my two year old daughter is brushing my hair. I want that moment to never end.

After a particularly awful day, I am grateful for the new day where we get to start fresh.

After a sick, sleep deprived week, my child turns a corner and I know that they will soon be themselves again.

For a moment, the house is clean, and all is well.

Sometimes motherhood is extremely lovely. When I see one child show unprompted kindness to the other, my heart swells with joy.

This job is hard. So very, very hard. But it is very, very worth it.”

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

I was surprised when I read about the horrific sound of fighting and screaming, back from when I was a regular mother of two. Although I remember that there were lots of challenging times as a young mum, I have often looked back at my old life through rose-tinted glasses. It is somewhat reassuring to know that there were always hard times!

One line stood out to me:

I spend every day serving and caring for, laughing with and cuddling people who I LOVE.

My experience of motherhood has been that it is far too much of a blessing for me to consider it the ‘hardest job in the world’. A big part of this is that I am somewhat naturally suited to being a mum and I enjoy the company of young children (when they are not screaming so loudly that I feel like my eardrums might explode or that I might accidentally crash the car). I like being at home. I like cooking. I like putting washing on the line.

One of the greatest shocks of my life was learning that just because I was good at being a mum, did not mean that I would be good at being a foster parent.

What is the difference?

Foster kids are quirky, but most kids have quirks. Foster kids need all of the things that “normal” children need. They still need to eat, to wear clothes, to play. They need boundaries and discipline. They need love and affection. They might tell you they hate you, but my own flesh and blood has told me that he hates me, and that I’m the worst mum in the world.

The difference is Love.

Not the airy feeling of ‘falling in love’, or the ‘love’ you feel for your favourite TV series or chocolate bar.

The earth-shattering, heart-breaking Love that you feel for your children, that keeps them alive when they are keeping you up at night, that makes you forgive them when they are driving you crazy. The kind of Love that you feel when you look at your child, and all of the other children in the world pale in comparison to your child’s beauty and “interestingness”. Real, true, unconditional Love.

Have you ever spent time with someone else’s children? They might be fun and interesting, but inevitably, they will tire and irritate you (as would any person after you had spent too much time together).

Miss A and Miss L have lived with us for nearly two and a half years. I have often felt that it was not fair on my biological children to be forced to have two “intruders” come into their home and share their parents. Now, I realise that it probably wasn’t fair on Miss A or Miss L either to have to go into a home and compete with similar aged children (who were utterly adored by their parents and held the upper hand) for parental affection and attention. It cannot be easy for them to always come in second-place, as much as we try to treat the children equally. I worry that they might have been better off with a young couple who didn’t have any other children for them to compete with.

There is no biological reserve of affection to call upon when the going gets tough. I must go by what I know, and not by how I feel.

What I feel: I care deeply about Miss A and Miss L. I have real maternal feelings, sometimes. I feel pride in their progress and accomplishments. I have great hopes for their lives. But sometimes it is all too much. I get bogged down by regret and resentment, feeling that I have dug myself in too deep. Sometimes, it would seem easier to give up than to keep going.

What I know is this: the girls have had a difficult start to life. All children deserve to grow up in a safe, loving home. We made a promise to be their “forever home”, and we intend to keep that promise. To break that promise would be traumatic for them, and for our whole family. They are a part of our family now. They have made so much progress. We can actually have enjoyable family outings now, and holidays that feel like holidays. Meal times are more pleasant that they used to be, and we talk over dinner about our day. Miss A and Miss L are attached to us now, and we are to them. Particularly for Miss L who was younger than three when she joined our family; she has no memory of life before us. She might have parents who she sees occasionally, but for all intents and purposes, I am her mum. Every day she tells me that I am the loveliest, nicest, prettiest, best mum.

When she tells me this, I feel guilty. I am not half the mum that she deserves.

I am not the Mary Poppins style mother that I always wanted to be, and I am much crankier and lazier than I had ever imagined.

But hopefully, I am “good enough”. Good enough will do.

As for motherhood being the hardest job in the world? The jury is still out. I don’t think I can make a one-size-fits-all statement. Every woman experiences motherhood differently.

Just keep swimming.