“What do you want to be when you grow up, Mummy?”
“I want to be your mummy. Always.”
She is dissatisfied.
“No! What do you want to be?”
I twitch a little inside as my four-year-old unintentionally exposes a sore point. She doesn’t realise how much I have sacrificed to be at home with my three girls.
She runs off, in her carefree way, when I tell her I want to be a writer. Reengaging in a game of Mums and Dads, she is now playing the role of “writer” mum.
I am left standing in the kitchen, dwelling on all my unrealised dreams. Is simply being a mother enough?
Children have a knack for unintentionally exposing vulnerabilities. Like the way you hear your reprimands repeated back in their pretend play or during sibling conflict. Or when they point out your unwaxed upper lip. You’re too busy doing laundry and wiping bottoms to do anything about it.
Why do I feel like “just” being a stay-at-home mother is not enough? I worry my daughters will lack ambition because they did not witness their mother boasting a blossoming career as well as caring for them. I know this is ridiculous. Being at home with them means I can invest so much in their lives – to help them become the best versions of themselves.
Even if I wanted to go back to work, it is too late to realise many of my youthful dreams. For instance, I’ve missed my chance of becoming a professional dancer. That ambition was forgotten when I dropped dance classes in my early twenties in exchange for moderate shuffling in pubs and at weddings. I’m also unlikely to break into the acting business at this stage of life. Despite the fact I look horrendously bedraggled on a good day, I was also told by my acting teacher that if I ever attempted a foreign accent again he would kick me out of his class.
The same goes for a famous chef, pop singer, doctor, world-renowned artist, professional sportswoman, travel journalist – the list goes on.
What my daughter is still too young to realise is how many skills this parenting role requires. In our home, I must be everything. Perhaps my dreams have just manifested themselves in unexpected ways.
When I sing lullabies at bedtime, I am a singer.
When I cook family meals, I am a chef.
When I read a story and put on my “funny voices”, I am an actress.
When I dance around the living room to The Greatest Show, I am a dancer.
When I tend to a grazed knee or a bumped head, I am a doctor.
When I draw animals for colouring-in or invent crafts, I am an artist.
When we count to ten, sing ABC or we learn about the stars, I am a teacher.
Sometimes I feel as though I have lost myself in motherhood. Other times I think it is only since having children I have discovered who I truly am. Every day I have to tap into resources I didn’t know I possessed to raise these little people. There are many things I have sacrificed to be a mother. I have also gained and learned much. My old dreams have withered – or are on hold – but I have so many new ones for these precious children for whom I am responsible.
Yes, I wish daily life could be easier or less taxing on my mental, physical and emotional wellbeing. But I wouldn’t change it. Not for glitz or glamour, money or fame.
These early years will pass in a flash and then I can revisit my aspirations. Yet, something tells me my dreams will be very different then. And that’s okay.
If all three girls grow up knowing they are loved, precious and valuable, I will have achieved more than I ever thought I could. And that will be a dream come true.
