It is 8:10 am on Monday morning and I have been up with my children for nearly two hours. My husband is out of town and my babysitter isn’t coming for another fifty minutes. All I want to do is curl up on the couch with the LA Times Crossword Puzzle. I do not want to build a Star Wars Hotel out of Legos.  I do not want to play Hair Cut for the fiftieth time. I do not want to kick a soccer ball in my butt-cold backyard. I do not want to watch another episode of  “Scooby Do” (even though the theme song is now on my ipod). I want my children to find something to do that is relatively safe and does not require my participation.

I know that these moments while they are young are fleeting and I should cherish every moment. I could write a Hallmark Card full of sentiments that I should be feeling. Of course, there are many days when I am filled with gratitude and joy as I interact with them. Then there are the times when after 10 minutes of sitting on the floor and playing Dinosaurs, I begin to spiral down my all too-familiar tunnel of angst. I tell myself that I need to be doing something productive. I feel stuck. I begin to wonder if  I have lost myself forever.  My brain cleverly defends against this despair by automatically focusing on some critically important task that I must immediately accomplish- like cleaning out the fruit drawer in my fridge or going online to OldNavy.com to search for toddler pajamas on clearance.

The moment I become engrossed in some activity that is not completely centered on my children, they become frantic. My daughter and I have a morning routine- as I attempt to get ready for my day, she chases after me screeching, “Mommy up!”  I often play with her until I am convinced that she is fully absorbed in some activity. Then I quietly get up and attempt to sneak away. She immediately feels my absence, pops up, charges towards me again, demanding, ‘Mommy up!” This cycle continues until I either give up on getting ready-what’s another day in my pajamas and baseball cap? Or I concede to her demands by picking her up, and perching her on on my hip as I try to flat-iron my hair and put on mascara. My four year old often resorts to licking me to get my attention. They have an uncanny knack for knowing when I am zoned out. The more they vie for my attention, the more smothered and overwhelmed I feel by the utter responsibility and relentlessness of motherhood.

They seem to require, as most children do, an insatiable amount of my time and energy. There are days when I am blessed with an abundance of zest and my passion for spending time with my children flows freely from me. Then there are the other times when, I am ashamed to admit, it is a struggle. A major struggle. A “Let me organize my sock drawer/defrost my freezer/clean the spots of the wall- anything but read ‘Green Eggs and Ham’ again” struggle.  Their need for my complete attention is often in dire conflict with my need for privacy, space and freedom. When I am with them, I focus on my next break from them as a finish line to carry me through my angst. I long for the time when I can actually complete an activity from start to finish, however mundane it may be, without constant interruptions. Ironically, once  I get my break they are always in my thoughts and I  have to swat away at the gnawing guilt that condemns me for choosing myself over them.

As much as I complain about the dreaded park, I manage to end up there several times a week. The second my child gets busy on the play-structure or in the sandbox, my cellphone comes out and I start scrolling down my address book, looking for someone, anyone, to call or text. Anything to take me out of the moment… anything to escape. What is so excruciating about watching my child play at the park? Is it sitting still that is so uncomfortable? Being really present with children (or anyone for that matter)  is almost like meditating. It requires the ability to be open, responsive, and connected to something greater than the desire to escape. It requires me to rise above my angst and simply allow being with my children to be enough.

People love to spout off the cliche’ that raising children is the most important job there is. This is a hard concept to grasp after you’ve sung “Itsy Bitsy Spider” for the 100′th time in an hour! Perhaps by getting some perspective I can accept the moment for what it is – me spending time with my children. I can even take this a step further by recognizing that in our interactions we are developing a relationship and they are learning how to relate the world.

As I sit on the floor with my children, maybe I can even embrace my multiple roles as mother/ teacher/ referee/ entertainment center. I can use my time with them as a means to practice being mindful and patient. I want my children to feel securely attached to me- not like I am this elusive entity that they have to fight for the attention of.

So, I guess for today, perezhilton.com will have to wait! But my friend just told me that Gap online is having a major sale on socks, and I have been really meaning to clean out my makeup bag…

This entry was posted on Friday, February 13th, 2009 at 8:58 am and is filed under 1. Angst Mom Essays. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.