Once in a while, I take a look back on my life; I reflect. I think about all the things that I have done, and all the things that I still would like to do, and wonder…will I be able to do it? Like writing. I love to write and read, but lately, I haven’t had much of a passion to open up a book or write anything down.
Life with children is hard, but somehow I feel like I’m falling short because some of my favorite writers started when they had children. Funny. Makes me wonder what the kids were doing when they were writing. Today, parents (especially moms) are expected to be super parents.
We are expected to have our children reading on a college level at 5 years old. Okay, an exaggeration I admit, but our kids are expected to read. Maybe write, and of course get a long with others. Aside from the kids, we are expected to have our house in tip-top shape, look good for the hubby, and be a purring kitten when he’s ready to go.
Looking around my apartment right now, I can see that my living room is my daughter’s play area. She is at least learning to wash her hands now. As for my hubby, to my knowledge, he’s always ready to go. He’s just waiting on me.
All that leaves is just me. What am I expecting of myself? Am I expecting me to be a super mom? Or do I think that is what expected of me? I survive one day at a time. I love my family, but Lord knows, I can’t think about next week when I have to make it through today.
I don’t think things will get easier with more kids, I’m expecting things to get tougher, but I am hoping that things will start to look up.
How do you make it through each day?