The Two Things I will Never Tell My Children

As mothers we spend a lot of our time shielding our kids from the harsh realities of the world until they are ready to face them. School shootings, dead three-year-old Syrian refugees, teens who overdoes on heroine, missing commercial airliners – the list of frightening things that our children can be exposed to is overwhelming. They see them on YouTube, hear a story about them on NPR or the evening news before we can change the station, or overhear a friend talking about them at school. As moms we get that we can’t sanitize every scary thing out of our kids’ lives so we learn to explain it in a way that hopefully makes it less scary.

Then I started thinking about how ironic it is that we as moms have no problem creating ways for our children to cope with the harsh realities of the world – and they are harsh – but yet we fiercely guard the thing that would really rock their world: our own frailties as mothers. Because God forbid they find out how weak and overwhelmed we are both physically and mentally sometimes as mothers. And will we ever have that conversation with them – the “big reveal” that we are human?

I’ve two areas of my own humanness I am not sure I’ll ever lay on them.

Pregnancy can (and often will) make your body its b*tch. I realized when my very pregnant friend texted me: “My allergies are making me sneeze so much that I have peed myself every day this week. In fact, I had to shower this morning because I wet the bed.” that this mom thing is not kind to our bodies. We’ve all seen the Facebook viral photos of “real mom” bodies. I adore them. I applaud them. Real moms have stretch marks and wide tushies (among other things). But to me as unpleasant as the “mom body” is it is in fact the least terrible of all tolls pregnancy takes on your body. Because to me I can throw some spanx on and no one is the wiser. But the loss of bladder control is just plain wrong. I had to text my friend back and tell her though I am active and my youngest is eight I still to this day cannot do jumping jacks without wetting my pants. But even the peeing can be handled with a panty liner so really boo-hoo lady. But what really bums me out is that I have to be on thyroid medication for the rest of my life because my pregnancies did a number on my thyroid. And I’m not alone I’m just airing my dirty laundry (literally) as an example of how this mom gig is not for the faint of heart. And I’m pretty sure I’m never going to tell my kids any of this. Ever. Because I’d take on all the physical nastiness on a thousand times over to have my boys.
Sometimes being a mom is so overwhelming I absolutely lose my sh*t. Now don’t get me wrong, I am all about showing my boys that crying is okay – out with the bad, in with the good I say! But there is a big difference between appropriate and controlled crying (Like at the end of Toy Story Three when Andy and his crew are slowly sliding towards the incinerator) and locking myself in my closet and sobbing while snot runs down my face and sobs wrack my body (when I feel like total and complete failure as a parent, a wife, professionally – pick your poison). I’m not sure when if ever I’m going to clue my children into the fact that when you’re a parent and you are feeling like you are failing that it is so much worse than failing as a single person. Because now my children who depend on me for nearly everything are being let down and negatively affected. I’m not just screwing up my life I’m screwing up their lives. And that feeling has crushed me. I’m not sure I’m going to share this tid-bit with my boys because quite frankly I’d like to have grandchildren someday.

Look, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe kids should know everything. Fully disclose and let the chips fall where they may. Maybe it’s my own craziness that I never want them to feel a second of guilt for the burden of being born. Because peeing my pants and crying in my closet are infinitesimal prices to pay for the gift of being their mom.