Shakespeare said that expectations are the root of all heartache. I always assumed that people were the root of all heartache, but I guess people are as people do and the true problem lies in what I expect them to do and who I expect them to be.
Motherhood changed my expectations big time, in the weirdest ways; I now get super offended when A smiles at someone and they don’t immediately melt, I can’t for the life of me understand why people don’t take off their shoes when they come into my house (don’t they know that little mouths search EVERYWHERE for teething relief?!), and the cat’s failure to understand that I am touched the eff out and can’t pet her every time I have a 37 second break from rocking a baby or playing cars with a toddler. While I may have upped the bar in some ways, i find myself reacting with much more empathy than before because I totally understand what it’s like to run full speed ahead and still feel like your life is a mess.
I’ve also come to expect more of myself since becoming a mom, which pushes me to be equal parts insane and impressive. Baby M was awake for two hours last night babbling away and I couldn’t forgive myself for sleeping in until 6:30 (instead of my usual 5 am), which 23-year-old me would have laughed at because what the actual hell, who worries about that kind of thing? Apparently this chick right here.
Overall, though, I think motherhood has taught me to really examine my expectations of others and myself and sit in a space of reflection when I feel upset by those expectations not being met. Most of the time, I can see the logic in why people do what they do and even when I can’t, I’ve been around enough to know that I don’t know everyone’s story or intentions and it’s much healthier for me to chill and worry about my own life. Besides, with as crazy as my kids make me day in and day out, I’ll take all the peace of mind I can get.