In order to ease the transition of my old, halfhearted blogs to this one, I've decided to post some of my old entries. The reasoning for this is simple: they weren't very widely read, but I liked what I wrote. If you were one of the few who read my other blogs, feel free to skip the next couple of entries. Sorry to waste your time with repetitive things.
From my livejournal, dated Dec. 5, 2009.
"As much as I adore those little rugrats, I love the weekend. I don't have to wake up at six in the morning, I don't have to watch Dora the Explorer or comfort a crying toddler. I don't have to answer to anyone or be in charge of anything, and it's a wonderful break. Sometimes, the weight of my job comes crashing down about my head. I think about how, when their parents are away, I am the sole person responsible for four little lives. If they are sick, dying, bleeding, crying, unhappy, angry, anything-- it's my responsibility and my fault. The youngest is dependent upon me. She would not be fed if I didn't feed her, she would not be changed if I didn't change her, she would not be safe if I didn't keep a close eye on her. Hearing the smallest thuds or the beginning whimper of tears jacks up my anxiety level, and it's hard to come down again until I know everyone is okay. Some days, this is constantly on my mind.
There are the great days too, when all the kids are happy and I'm well-rested. We play and laugh and joke and tease and have a great time together. I pick up the kids and sling them over my shoulder, they laugh and scream and ask me to twirl them around. They cuddle into my lap and ask me to read a story. They dance and shake their teeny booties around when I play music. It's wonderful and endearing, and it makes all the anxiety worth it. I think about how the family is doing when I'm not around. I hope they're having a fun and relaxing weekend, and I feel for them when something unpleasant is occurring in their lives. My heart is invested in this job, and I don't mind it.
It makes me think about motherhood a lot. I have maternal instincts, yes. You can't survive as a caretaker without them. But do I actually want to have children? Do I want to commit my life to the well-being and safety of a child? As much as I love those kids, I crave weekend time to be adult and de-stress. As a mother, the majority of my day will most likely be filled with the trivial tasks of daily life. Giant drifts of laundry will pile everywhere, never fully being completed. There will be dishes and diapers and sweeping and mopping and scrubbing.
I contemplate what my life would be like if chose motherhood... and I don't think I can live a life devoted to my children. I don't think I'm cut out for mothering. I would always feel that life is somehow diminished, no matter how much I love my children and adore my family. It reminds me of the mother character in the book The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold. She has a lovely house, three beautiful children, a devoted husband, and friends to spare. Yet, she feels empty inside. She wanted to go to France to write, but she didn't because she got married. She wanted to go to grad school to learn more about art and literature, but she didn't because she had children. She wanted to BE something, and instead, winds up feeling trapped with her family. I don't want to be like that. I don't think it would be fair to either my spouse or my children.
I know that 18 is a tad young to be worrying about this sort of thing, but being a nanny changes things. Because I am, in essence, a mother for 36 hours a week, I can't help but think how I'd handle raising my own brood. And with time and maturity may come different priorities, I'm well aware of that. It's not advisable to become a mother at my age anyway. I just can't help but think that I'll always feel trapped in that lifestyle."
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