On being a mom

Something different for you today: a poem I wrote during my first year of being a mom.

We Expect

We expect our children to share everything they own. But do we share everything we own?

We expect our children to enjoy sleeping alone. But do we enjoy sleeping alone?

We expect our children to realize they’ll be okay immediately after falling down. But do we realize we’ll be okay immediately after we fall down?

We expect our children to let other people decide what they will wear, what they will eat and where they will go. We expect them to always eat their vegetables and to go to school for eight hours a day. We expect them to sit still, play quietly, contain their excitement and never, ever show they’re mad. But are these things always such a good idea?

We parents don’t always go to bed on time. We don’t always manage our money wisely. We often argue, or even refuse to work out our disagreements at all.

We don’t always keep our rooms clean, stick with our first decision or get ready on time. We don’t always do the math right.

We don’t always follow the rules.

We expect our children to behave like adults while so often, we behave like them. Maybe, then, we should expect a little less of our children—and a great deal more of ourselves.

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