I'm not an idiot. (That's not the confession. That's the disclaimer.)
I know that reality is not going to live up to expectations.
But let me confess anyway because I actually have a broad spectrum on the expectation scale.
I often think about bringing home this perfectly adorable, perfectly well behaved child. His little cries will be minimal, his little poops nice and neat, and his little spit ups will never end up in my hair or all over my favorite shirt. Breastfeeding will be a breeze. He'll sleep for many hours at a time, allowing me to catch up on my own sleep.
I'll lose weight so fast.
Every day is going to be so fun. He'll grow up with his daddy's smile and his angel sister's chubby cheeks. He'll be sweet and polite and love going to church. He'll never talk back, never whine, and never throw a tantrum over something stupid.
Motherhood is going to be such a breeze.
Yeah. Freaking. Right.
I know none of this stuff is going to happen. But let's flip this around.
I'm scared to death. Something has to go wrong. There's going to be some major problem that's going to change our lives forever. Because nothing works out the way you hope it does, no matter how hard you struggle to have faith that it will.
It's going to be too hard. There's going to be major disappointments that will make me feel like a terrible mother. The things I fear the most will undoubtedly occur. Everything is going to blow up in my face and any mere inkling of those serene dreams I had about family life and motherhood are going to shatter. I just know it.
Or I'll just be fat forever.
Because you can't have it all. Ever. You can't have the healthy, beautiful child, the perfect body, and the wonderful marriage to someone who will be successful and happy in his profession. You just can't.
Because it wouldn't be fair. Everyone has to have trials.
Mine are just getting started, notwithstanding our nightmarish past.
That's how I feel lately.
I know I won't have this freakishly ideal home and family. But for me, even the hope of a happy, cute, and healthy baby; a happy, cute, and healthy husband; and a happy, cute, and healthy self, seems... unreachable. Unallowed. Wrong. I should accept what life gives me and be grateful.
Why? Why do I have to feel like this? I try so hard to pray it away; to accept God's will and let go of my fear. But I can't.
Because I want it all. I had to give my first baby back to Heavenly Father. And now I want life to give me what I want.
Is it wrong to feel like this? Do other moms feel like this?