Commitment, Control Freak, Life, Love, Parenting

My “Perfect” blog

The dictionary defines perfect as the following:

 

per·fect

adjective

1.conforming absolutely to the description or definition of an ideal type: a perfect sphere; a perfect gentleman.
2.excellent or complete beyond practical or theoretical improvement: There is no perfect legal code. The proportions of this temple are almost perfect.
3.exactly fitting the need in a certain situation or for a certain purpose: a perfect actor to play Mr.Micawber; a perfect saw for cutting out keyholes.
4.entirely without any flaws, defects, or shortcomings: a perfect apple; the perfect crime.
5.accurate, exact, or correct in every detail: a perfect copy.
When I was nine years old I started taking piano lessons. I took lessons until I graduated high school. I started clarinet lessons in sixth grade and also stopped when I graduated. I loved playing. I loved being challenged and loved pouring my emotions into the music I played. But I hated playing piano pieces in front of people until they were perfect. The same with my clarinet. I think, in many ways, I held myself back by having such an intense fear of what others would think of me in my imperfect state. Because that’s what it was, fear. After so many years of lessons and competitions I would still get so nervous going in front of a judge, no matter how confident I had been 30 seconds before entering the room. My fear and insecurity was so bad, I didn’t even like to let my parents listen and they lived in the house!
In some ways my drive to be perfect, or do things perfectly has helped me to be a decent student along the way. But these days all it does is fester itself creating self-doubt in my abilities to be a “perfect” wife and mother.
My non-depressive brain tells me “silly girl, there’s no such thing as a perfect wife or perfect mother. My depressive brain tells me that while that may be true, I am so far from being even a good wife or mother. And the struggle begins: the fight to point out to myself my golden moments; the struggle to not shrug off genuine compliments from loved ones; to not compare myself to other moms and wives; to be content with being my best, my “perfect” and knowing that my loved ones accept that person.
Back when we lived in Yucca Valley, CA while Dave was stationed at Twentynine Palms Marine Base I started a secret blog. I told one person in the hopes that my brutal, raw honesty about my feelings would help her. It was as open and true as I’ve ever been. But even that I couldn’t keep up with because my guilt of what I was writing became too much. Guilt, bad internet reception, a deployment and two moves but I’d long since deleted the blog before the first move. I think having my imperfections so public was a little more than I could handle, even if I believed I was anonymous.
This time, however, I’m in a different place with my depression and with my acceptance of my flaws; and I truly believe that while writing all this is therapeutic for me, it may also be helpful for just one person out there. This is the same name my old, “secret” blog had, and the reason I named it this still resonates with me so why not use it again?
The phrase comes from Harry Potter and the Half  Blood Prince.
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We are all dreaming of that next Golden Day that we will experience. Maybe it will be a big reunion with a loved one, maybe it will just be 30 minutes out of a day that you give your full attention to your son to play one of his intricate and imaginative games. May your heart lift when your next “golden day of peace” arrives.
Commitment, Life, Love

Commitments: life, love, being a parent…

I thought this would make an appropriate first blog post for this little space of mine. For the obvious reason: creating this blog means I’m making a commitment to keep up with it; and for a few not so obvious reasons. I’ll elaborate.

A few weeks ago I was listening to NPR and there was a man talking about his stance on abortion. He didn’t believe in abortion but he was pro-choice. His stance is essentially the same as my own. Being NPR of course they had people from both sides on to debate. This man though was offering up some really great ideas on how to meet in the middle of the debate. It was a good discussion, in any case.

This post is not actually about abortion in any way, at least not directly.

It is about commitment.

When I decided to date Dave, I made a commitment to him in my heart and mind to be faithful to only him and see where our friendship could go. Obviously, it developed into love and marriage and now a little family to share our love with. Before God, some family and friends we made a vow to each other for life.

In loving Dave and choosing to be with him I made a commitment to his career. This commitment was not immediately clear to me, but after a couple of moves I realized that while it may have been his dream to be a Marine pilot and not mine, his career had a very direct impact on my life. It hasn’t always been easy to be that selfless.

Every day I make choices that impact my life: will I eat badly, will I exercise, how fast will I drive today, how much will I drink? I’ve made the decision not to smoke, use drugs, etc. These are commitments I make for the betterment of my healthy and well being.

I’m desperately trying to commit myself to becoming a nurse!

But the biggest, MOST selfless commitment I could have ever made was the day I peed on a stick and it showed two lines instead of one. I committed to allowing life to continue. In that split second of chaotic thoughts running through my brain, terminating the little lima bean sized being inside of me was not one of them and therefore, I committed to his future. That commitment didn’t make me a parent though.

That commitment came later when I decided that I would keep him as mine. This may seem an obvious decision given that I was in a pretty solid marriage (3.5 years in by the time T was born), but hear me out. So many girls and women out there decide to give a baby up for adoption for many different reasons. It wouldn’t have been unheard of for a young married couple to decide not to keep a baby. We did, and therefore in that decision, we committed ourselves to being parents.

There were the obvious things I had to do, keep my body healthy so I could ensure his development was the best I could physically and biologically offer. But then there were the other decisions, ones I’m still realizing we are making on a regular basis. Being a parent is HARD. And being a first time parent is really, really hard. Sure, there are books out there to help guide you, but NO child is exactly alike. And therefore, you will take that information and advice from the books, your childhood upbringing, your parents, your other parent friends, etc… and have to STILL figure out what’s best for your individual child.

Every single day I wake up and decide to stay committed to being the best parent I can be for my son.

This morning was rough. Why are you waking up at 6:30 am? Mommy’s alarm doesn’t go off for another hour. No, the sun is not up all the way, you are seeing things. Please, please go back to lay down. Do you want to snuggle? No, you can not have a snack, that isn’t breakfast. No, you can not play Mario…well, maybe you can. Can you play until you hear mommy’s alarm (now only 30 mins away)? Mommy’s alarm hasn’t gone off, buddy, what do you need? Oh, you’re hungry. Go get an apple. No, you can’t have a snack, you can have a banana. I don’t care that you don’t want a banana, snacks aren’t breakfast.

And now I’m up. Because there never really was any point in trying to stay physically in bed. Was I “Awesome Mom” this morning? Well, no, no I wasn’t. I was grumpy Mom. I let my son play a video game before going to preschool. I did not give in and give him a snack but if I’m honest, I may have if it were Saturday. Because things like that always seem more okay on the weekends, don’t they?

I know that I’m not really a bad parent. I can see that from a big picture view. There is no such thing as the perfect parent, I know that too. But I do question decisions I make as soon as I make them. I feel such a responsibility for his life, as I should, and wonder how decisions I make today will affect his tomorrows. He is our “test-baby” – we will learn with him and if he ever gets a sibling, that sibling will probably have an easier go of it at times because Tarleton was our teacher. Sometimes I feel guilty for that.

No matter what decisions I make, we make, as parents one thing is for sure: we are undeniably, unequivocably devoted to loving this little human combination of the two of us. Maybe he is a little spoiled, darn that cute face of his! Gets us almost every time, almost.