Saturday, February 7, 2009

Non-Maternal Instincts

Nonmaternal Instinct

Thursday, November 19: The Couch Escapade, Part Two

Thursday, November 12: The Couch Escapade, Part One

Thursday, November 5: This is what it looks like . . .

Thursday, October 29: Dog Edition

Thursday, October 15: Desperate.

Thursday, October 8: I swore I wouldn't be this way.

Thursday, September 24: I screamed this morning.

Thursday, August 13: Maternal Exhaustion

Thursday, July 23: Irony.

Thursday, July 2: My son gets shots today.

Thursday, June 25: It only gets worse.

Thursday, June 18: Whose hair is it anyway?

Thursday, May 7: Sleepless in Columbus

Thursday, April 23: Hold your nose.

Thursday, March 26: The curse of the toy

Thursday, February 19:
Whose food is it anyway?

Most Thursdays, I post Non-Maternal Instincts. Please join me in sharing the not-so-sunny tales of parenthood!

For more about Non-Maternal Instincts, please read below:

Every mom can attest to those indescribable moments of love and compassion when maternal instinct kicks-in, a desire to protect, defend and guard our children when adversity arises.

Yet there are times when a mother’s reaction is anything but maternal. Instinctual, sure. Animalistic, maybe. But definitely not maternal.

You know what I'm talking about, those vomit-in-the-hair, laundry-less clothes, what-day-is-it-now, countdown-to-bedtime, is-that-feces-on-the-wall, Jesus-come-back-now moments. When those anything-but-rare moments occur, our Carol Brady nature seems merely a stranger. And because we can all use a little oops-I-forgot-the-baby-at-home camaraderie, I invite you to blog with me, sharing our moments of non-maternal instinct and the hail mary prayers that we use to survive.

* I should make one thing very clear – I love being a mom.

But as much as I love motherhood, it ain’t all blankets and booties. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t give myself this pep talk, “okay, I can do this, I don’t know how, but I can do this.” Yet in the same breathe I thank God everyday for my precious little man.

So here I go. Genuinely, whole-heartedly, painfully, frankly, truthfully, tenderly and sometimes heartbreakingly, spilling my tales of motherhood no matter how ugly it gets. The good news, I won’t be doing it alone. In addition to the big man upstairs who is always on my side, I invite you to share your non-maternal tales along with me.

* I want to include the following thoughts before I begin whining and groaning about the sometimes dark-side of motherhood.

In many ways our non-maternal instincts are simply derivative of our maternal instincts. When the little guy screams bloody murder in the middle of the grocery store, we experience such humiliation and frustration because it’s our kid. When it’s someone else’s kid, we continue pushing our cart and sifting through coupons. But when it’s our own flesh and blood, we usually have a less-than-tolerant reaction.

You know what I’m talking about: we either jump ship leaving the cart, groceries and all, smack dab in the middle of aisle seven as we drag our toddler out of the store by half of his arm, or we continue shopping as if we had the grocery store all to ourselves only to bust open a bottle of wine the minute we get home in the hopes that a few swigs will diminish any memory of the scene caused by our little monster and witnessed by hundreds of innocent grocery shoppers.

Yes, our non-maternal instincts are very much maternal, but rather than taking ownership of my crazy-mom-in-aisle-seven moments, I’ll just call them non-maternal and pray that tomorrow offers the chance for my maternal instinct to shine.

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