The funny side to life as a working single Mum. My stories of embarrassing escapades, toddler tantrums and great expectations.
Monday, 21 April 2014
Parental responsibility and parental guilt.
I carry this concept of 'more' with me in everything I do; most of all in parenting. Should I be doing more as a Mother? Does my son need more? Does he want more? Can I give him more? How can I provide more? More time. More of a home. More of a future.
This is not to say that our life is in any way lacking. We are incredibly lucky to have a home, my income and each other. However, I cannot help but think on a daily basis that I should own a home for Ethan, have savings ready for his future and just provide more for him. Perhaps this is the price we pay for modern existence. We want for more when our lives already hold so much. Or maybe this is something of a personal nature. Something far less political; far less of a social study.
I have been thinking about where this idea comes from and have come to several conclusions. The first is that I have always pushed myself. Whether this be in my career or personal life, I have always expected a lot of myself. I was an 'average' student who achieved highly, I was the unpopular girl who became the centre of attention, I was the goth who settled down to have a family. I always worked hard at whatever my focus was and this still stands today in my rather unusual life.
As a Mother it is impossible for me to reach the heights I aspire to, for what I yearn for is my child to want for nothing and always be happy. Impossible. As parents we want this from the second we are aware of the existence of our child, but it literally isn't possible. Children will be unhappy, as babies, teenagers and adults. As parents I guess all we can do is be there to make the unhappiness slightly less unbearable. What a horrible job that is in reality.
Underneath all of this, at the root of this feeling is a fear of failure. I fear I have suffered failure as a writer, as a singer and as a wife. Now, these things may may not necessarily seem as though they link to a fear of failure as a parent, but one ultimately makes me feel as though I have already failed my son. I wanted my child to grow up with both his parents together as a unit. Maybe I am old fashioned, maybe I was dreaming, maybe it was all a joke.
Jokes aside, I know that my son still has both of his parents and that I am here for him in every way. I do my best for him and he will hopefully grow up understanding that. However much I know this, it doesn't stop my from thinking otherwise. Maybe this is the curse of parenting, or the curse of an analytically inclined mind.
I am not sure exactly.
Perhaps I should just be.
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