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Reflections on Motherhood

A One-Year Birthday and a Baby on the Way

By Kate Riener Boyd

ing, and even then he does nothing worse than whine a little bit.

We have a predictable schedule, which makes us both happy, and it has allowed me some time to address concerns in my life outside of motherhood. I started a monthly moms' group that keeps me in touch with friends, and I have had occasional time away to myself to write, read or catch a movie. But there is so much I have let slide. If I'm not perfect now, when things are relatively easy, then what sort of mess am I going to be once the new baby arrives?

These are the terrible thoughts that keep me company in the wee hours. I am a lousy homemaker with overflowing closets, who procrastinates virtually every chore, who hasn't made a vegetable with dinner in months, who sometimes leaves dishes in the sink overnight, who is ashamed by the lack of "a place for everything and every thing in its place."

I am a "terrible mom" who lets her son snack too much when we're at The Home Depot to keep him quiet, who ignores a dirty diaper for a few minutes so I don't have to schlep upstairs again, who puts well-worn socks on his feet because I haven't done the laundry. I don't take him to art museums, he doesn't belong to a single playgroup (the horror!), and most chilly days he is shuttled only from his small play area to the car to the grocery store and back.

I am a bad pet owner who yells at the cats, making my son cry in return. They don't get the same kind of attention they once did, and they attempt to rectify the situation by meowing relentlessly. It actually makes me more annoyed and less likely to lavish them with love. My cat sitter is even worried about the cats. I worry that the next time I leave town for a long weekend she is going to take the cats in the name of neglect. And, speaking of neglect, I can't get started with the ways I'm not the perfect wife – it may be hard to stop.

Lastly, I'm not good to myself. I don't exercise, explore a hobby or even write regularly, something that is necessary for my sanity. I fear that I'm going to wake up six years from now, home-schooling a roomful of neighborhood children and unable to remember the last time I wrote anything longer than a shopping list. This mental picture is more frightening at 4 a.m., because for some inexplicable reason I am wearing a shapeless, ankle-length denim dress.

In my more rational hours, I fear that this internal faultfinding will only intensify with another child. I know I need to give myself a break and acknowledge that there will always be things that don't get done. No one can be perfect, but I can focus instead on the ways I am

Want to see more?

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• The Difference Between Having Your First, Second and Third Child
• Preparing Your Child for the New Baby
• Talk about it!