Living the Dream

There's a bedtime story I like to tell Finn that starts like this: "Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Shannon.  Shannon liked to read books, ride her bike, to take pictures, and play with her friends.  And she had two big dreams - to be a doctor and to be a mommy."

Driving to work on Friday it suddenly occurred to me that I have finally accomplished both of my big dreams.  As of July, I'll have been in my practice for 10 years.  As as of this February, I'm finally the mom to two kids. My entire adult life has been spent working towards being a doctor and being a mom, and even after Finn was born I was still thinking of efforts to conceive my second child.  While I'd be happy having even more children, I don't think it's a realistic possibility as long as I remain single.  And for the first time in my life, I really have absolutely no interest in meeting a man.

Which means that I find myself in the very foreign situation of just living for now. Of course I think of what the boys and I will do as they get older, both the mundane daily activities and the fun adventures, but I know those are going to come with time.  I don't have to work for them.  My focus is finally where it should be: living for today.

Is it weird that it kinda scares me? There's a part of me that feels like I need to be absolutely perfect.  I have the life I've dreamed of for years, complete with the wonderful house, and it seems like I should be the model mom, never losing my temper and always finding joy in every second of parenting. And so I feel guilty when I yell at Finn, or don't do enough to nurture him through something that upsets him, or let Zachary cry for a few minutes because my shoulders hurt from carrying his massive weight around, and I just need a rest. I feel guilty even though I know I'm going to mess up, I'm going to make mistakes, and we're going to have bad days and nights (last night Finn woke up with a stuffed up nose, crying, "I can't smell!" - funny and miserable all at the same time). Somehow I need to learn to allow myself to be ok with the reality that I'm not the perfect mom.  I suspect that feeling guilty and being fixated on the unobtainable quest for perfection will actually keep me from being as good a mom as I could be.  My kids don't need perfection.  They just need a mom who makes them feel loved, laughs at their jokes, and is fairly consistent with setting rules and boundaries.  It's just not as easy and straight forward as I somehow thought it would be, back when I imagined my life with children.

This sounds a little like I'm complaining, but I'm not. I know how incredibly lucky I am and I honestly don't quite believe it.  I keep expecting to wake up and find it's been a dream, or to have someone show up at my front door and say, "Just kidding! None of this is yours, take your cat and go back to your little apartment, all alone, where you belong."

Does this feeling of unreality ever go away?  Maybe after a few months of the daily grind of work and little sleep, I'll finally believe it's true.  Or maybe I'll never quite get over the sense of shock and wonder that comes when I suddenly realize I have two little boys in my life who call me mommy.

I'm going to try to enjoy it all - but also not beat myself up for the times I just want to lock myself in my bathroom to get a few minutes of peace and quiet.