I remember being younger and looking up at adults thinking, “Wow, it must be so cool to be a grown up, and to know how things work…”. And then I got to my 20s and looked up at the 30 somethings and thought, “I can’t wait until I’m grown up enough to have a decent grasp on life… I’ll have a career and a house and I’ll have life SORTED.”
Now I’m 30. 31 in June if I’m being honest. I still don’t have a clue. I don’t feel like a grown up. I still feel the same as I did when I was 17 – just 3 dress sizes larger with a better phone.
Yes, we have a house, but that’s probably got nothing to do with me – I never got around to sorting out that career thing. I coasted. Hubs has a proper job, and me? I worked casual hours until we had X. No responsibility really, every chance of progression stilted by management changes and my utter inability to function in interview scenarios.
And we have a beautiful little boy. Some days I look at him and think “What the hell?!” because much like I don’t feel like a grown up, AT ALL, I don’t much feel like a Mum.
Please don’t get me wrong, I love him more than I ever thought it was possible to love ANYTHING. Even cake. But I don’t seem to be able to get my head around the fact that a) I made him b) I carried him for 9 months and c) I’ve been his Mum for more than 3 years now. And I can’t get my head around the fact that I’ve been a SAHM for 3 years.
The dreaded Mum Guilt rears its head whenever I’ve enjoyed time without him – whether that’s like last weekend when I went for a walk all by myself to go shopping (I listened to loud music and walked briskly for nearly 2 miles just to buy a nail file, which I then forgot to buy but managed £20 of other stuff instead), or rehearsals, or sending him out with his Daddy for a bit. Shouldn’t I be “enjoying every second” as all the memes say? Shouldn’t I be covered in glitter and googly eyes from all the wonderful craft stuff we do that doesn’t bore me senseless?
He started nursery this week – two days a week I get all to myself!! I’ve not been this happy in such a long time! I can watch Neighbours with a hot cup of tea. I can listen to Metallica while I do the washing up. I can exercise without my legs suddenly becoming an impromptu bridge or totem pole.
Perhaps it’s this new freedom I’m suddenly experiencing that’s making me feel this way. I’m conflicted, torn between being X’s Mum and finding my own feet again and getting to be Becki. I know which person I think I prefer. At the moment, X’s Mum feels like an impostor, someone I’m pretending to be, and not doing a great job of it.
Does anyone else feel like this? Like the role of Motherhood hasn’t paired up with your own personality as seamlessly as you’d have liked?