Some days, I just cannot mom up.
I don't know what I was thinking, naming my blog "The Life Enthusiastic." It's a name hinged on an unhealthy dose of wishful thinking. "The Life, Meh" or "The Life, Well, It Has Its Moments" would have been more fitting. The life overwhelming. The life exhausted. The life exasperating. I can think of a page full of words to describe my life right now and none of those words are synonymous with enthusiastic. The Urban Dictionary describes an enthusiast this way: "A person who does something for a very long time but still sucks at it though he enjoys it very much." Zing.
But I do care.
Whatever I thought I knew after baby 1 has been casually challenged by baby 2 (and all you parents of multiple kids are smiling right now, thinking, "Serves you right for being so smug."). Breastfeeding? Still a privilege, but much more of an emotional trial now that there are two mouths to feed. Sleeping through the night? Not happening anytime soon, even with the cluster feeding, co-sleeping, and side-lying nursing. Terrific twos? No one told me I'd be the terrible one.
I won't bore you with the all the details of the circumstances that are bringing on the blues; written down or expressed out loud, they only make it more obvious how petty my problems are. I'm ashamed to admit that the reason life seems so impossible at the moment is more a matter of attitude than ability.
There it is, the honest truth. Would you like some whine and denial to go with that hearty serving of mom guilt? I am blaming the Internet, with all its inspirational quotes and heavily edited life depictions. It's convinced me that enthusiasm, every day, was in fact attainable, if I just put my mind to it and started my morning with a selfie, #messyhairdontcare.
But I do care.
I care that there is so much I don't know, even after almost three years as a mom. It's frustrating to accept that my motherhood journey has not (yet) led me to the place of confident guru-hood I had hoped I'd be at by now. Everyone else seems to have gotten whatever memos on messy play and picky eating I'd subscribed to but seem to have misplaced. I thought I'd done the thing and said the words and had the right mindset at the onset, so why am I still outside looking in at the carefully arranged wooden shelves with nature-culled non-toys and prepared activity trays?
Instead of speaking to you from a place a confident mastery, it seems this blog will be more about airing all the many ways I mess up and what I learn from the experience. For all my swagger, I am still a beginner. A momateur, driving full speed on the freeway with a learner's permit. Please don't confiscate my license.
