The Mixed Messages of Culture and Motherhood

Woodland pathI remember the moment so well, when an older woman saw in me who she was once herself.

Three years ago I was struggling to adapt to life as a mother of three. I recognize now that I was most likely depressed but at the time, all I recognized was that I was a mess.

An exhausted, unshowered, stressed out disaster.

After several days indoors I forced myself to take my children on a short walk around our neighborhood. I coaxed my 6 year old away from the millionth episode of whichever unsavory Cartoon Network program he was watching.

I found my toddler’s shoes, wiped his nose, and managed to get the stroller from the garage. Even though I was overwhelmed by the effort it took to accomplish these tasks, I strapped my newborn to my chest and we were off.

Pushing my two year old in the stroller, we started across the street to the public path along our little creek. Before we made it to the other side, there were rumblings and grumblings, whines and protests.

The six year old insisted we go back home to retrieve a toy.

The toddler was hot and wanted a drink.

And, as though she were expressing her opinion on the matter, the newborn- predictably- pooped.

I persisted. We were going on a walk whether we wanted to or not. I had something to prove to myself. I was going to get a grip, and a walk was the symbolic first step.

{Please continue reading at Toddler Times}

Photo Credit: Flickr

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