I wish I had a mom sometimes. I’m sorry, I think that sounds a little insensitive of me. I mean, I do have a mom, but at times I wish I had a real mom.
You know, one of those moms who you can call at 2 a.m. when the baby is screaming and you don’t know what to do. Or a mom who doesn’t hesitate to come over when you need a break.
I can count the times my mom has had my daughters overnight on one hand. And the number of times she has offered, without me having to ask? None.
I have a “when I can be bothered” mom. Or a “when it suits me” kind of mom. A mom who only bothers when she has to or when she feels the need to. Which I tell you, isn’t very often at all.
I wish I didn’t have to beg my mom to come and see my children. I wish it was natural for her. I often don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to come and see your grandkids. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe it is supposed to be like this.
Is it normal for a more than capable nana to not want to help, or visit, or do all the little things a nana is supposed to do?
I wish I had a mom who would make me a meal when I am run down or sick. Just so that, for one night, I didn’t have to do it.
I wish I had a mom I could cry to when I have just had enough.
I wish she felt more like a mother than an acquaintance.
I wish I felt the warmth in my mom’s hug. I wish I felt the love that mothers are supposed to give.
I understand, at times, my girls can be a lot—I live it, I’m sure we all do. But that shouldn’t matter when you’re a grandma. Should it?
When I’m exhausted and burnt out, there’s no mom to come and help me just for a little while. And when I am curled in a corner just trying to get a moment, there’s no mom to offer a helping hand. And I know she doesn’t hear the words “I just need my mom” when I’m just trying to keep myself together.
I can’t even remember the last time my partner and I went out for a meal together or just did something . . . for us. I get such heavy shoulders when I think about it.
There’s no nana to watch on the sidelines and cheer with me. There’s no extra proud, clapping, and cheerful grins at events when my children have won a prize.
There’s no such thing as “Grandma’s house,” which is supposed to sing with love and smell like freshly baked cookies.
Of course, I am happy when I hear my friends on the phone with their moms. And I’m over the moon when my friends get a well-deserved break. I love it when I see grandmas in shops buying their beautiful little grandchildren their favorite chocolate bars or when I see their carts full of their favorite little things. And what I love even more is seeing the delightful looks of happiness on all of their faces as they feel the love grandbabies are so entitled to feel.
But I can’t help but feel a tingle of resentment and jealousy. Because I wish my mom did that.
I wish my mom saw what she misses out on. Maybe she does see it. Maybe she’s just too wrapped up in whatever she’s doing to actually give a caring moment. But maybe she doesn’t see.
Now please don’t get me wrong, I do love my mom. And I am so grateful she’s here. I just can’t help but wish I didn’t have to do this without the support of a mother.
Should my daughters have children of their own someday, I know—I just know what kind of grandma I’ll be.