I’ve read some truly fantastic essays on motherhood. In fact, just recently I read this wonderful “Don’t Carpe Diem” article. But the following 4-paragraph essay, from the collection “Discovering Motherhood,” remains my favorite because there have been several times the past couple years when I’ve needed to remind myself that it’s not my turn right now.
by Robin Morris
It is three o’clock on a rainy Monday afternoon and I want my old job so bad I could scream. I want some place to go, some place out of this house. I want a reason to wear my nice clothes. I want to go out to lunch and not worry about the cost. I want to be respected for my abilities and paid for my accomplishments. I want the praise of other adults and a quarterly review to tell me how I’m doing.
“It’s my turn,” the song says, and today, in sweats and matted hair with a whining child, I’m ready to take it.
But this is just it, isn’t it? It is not my turn. It must be the small child’s turn. This is the time when they develop as persons; when the world becomes known as hostile or friendly, crazy or calm. It’s the small child’s turn, whether I’ve had enough of a turn or not.
Yes, today I want my old job so bad I could scream. But that’s not bad enough to take Richard’s turn (which is wholly in my power). My turn will come again, when Richard is older, and maybe then I will be able to appreciate my turn even more. Then again, maybe not. Maybe I will have missed out on my best working years after all. Either way, at this moment I have a more immediate, pressing engagement tugging at my pantleg, inviting me to a game of basketball rolling…