My Inspiration

My Inspiration

Monday, 1 August 2011

A moment of imperfection..

I have a confession to make.

I'm a perfectionist.

As in if I can't do it right the first time, I don't want to do it at all.

I want everything that I do to be perfect all of the time.

I've been like this forever.

For example, When I was younger (I'm thinkin' maybe 4?) my mum and dad thought it was time for me to learn how to ride a bike. They went out, got me a cute pink bike with a basket on it. 
(I'm sure at the time, my mum was still desperately trying to make me a girly girl. She only had to wait 24 years before I willingly put on a skirt. On a weekday. Not just for church.)
I put my little helmet on, I sat myself on the bike, my dad held onto the seat and away we went.

And, as any parent who has taught a child how to ride a bike can guess, I promptly fell right off.

Now, instead of getting back on the horse (or bike in this instance) and trying again, I threw the bike on the ground, pouted my patented upper lip pout, stormed off while saying something like, "This is stupid. I'm not doing it anymore." Or something to that effect.

My mum, being the wonderful mum she is, stormed after me and said, "Get back out there young lady! What happens when all of your friends know how to ride bikes and they all go off for a bike ride? What will you do?" 

And of course, because I have always been so stubborn I shot back,

"Who cares, they're all stupid too."

Long story short, my mum made me get back out there and by the end of the hour I was riding like an old, seasoned pro.

Well, not a whole heck of a lot has changed.

I still don't like when things don't go just exactly right. I have a very hard time when I put a pound of butter instead of half a pound like the recipe says (true story), I have a crying fit when the pants I hemmed have all the stitches fall out the first time I wear them (yep, true story), I storm off into my bedroom for a pout when my big, new, decorating idea doesn't work out (I'm too embarrassed to even say what the project was, but suffice to say, another true story).

Now, I'm pretty lucky to have a best friend who is so supportive that he still ate the shortbread with double the butter. He even said it tasted better than usual. He gave me a hug when my pants fell apart and told me that it was kinda stylish the way the pants were frayed at the bottom. He cleaned up my decorating mess and told me how beautiful it looked and even displayed it for a while. Before I finally took it down.

He's so wonderful.

It's so hard, though, to realize that the older I get, the less perfect I become. 

My marriage isn't perfect. We fight sometimes. We yell sometimes. We have different idea's of how to spend our days off. We have different goals. Marriage is hard work. 


And I do have a but.

The fact that we both work so hard at it, makes it a happy marriage.

I love my husband. 

Y'know, what else?

I like my husband.

And in this day and age, how many couples really like each other?

I gotta say, I'd rather be liked than loved some days. And I know I'm a pretty impossibly woman to live with.

Now that we have a baby, we're finding that life is even less perfect in some ways. 

Take today for example.

My beautiful, happy, full of joy baby, who is usually so easy going and full of love and kisses and smiles for mummy, just did not feel like sleeping. And she was so exhausted.

I mean exhausted.

As in, screaming with her eyes screwed shut, rubbing her face, past the point of no return, nothing I can do to calm her, kind of exhausted.

Being a parent is so hard for us perfectionists. Because babies aren't perfect. Adults aren't perfect, so why should we expect any different from our babes?

I had a really rough day today. 

I was feeling like a huge, mega failure as a mummy. I couldn't calm her down. I couldn't get her to sleep. Or eat. Or cuddle. Or play. I couldn't put her down, but I didn't know how to hold her how she wanted to be held.

I felt like I couldn't do anything.

And then at 5:35.

When Cuinn was due home any minute.

She fell asleep.

And I laid in my bed and had a cry because I was feeling pretty crappy.

And the most perfect moment happened.

My husband came home, he kissed me and said, "Go have a shower, I'll get things ready for dinner and watch Aislynn. You need some you time."

I'm finally starting to get it.

Life isn't about being perfect.

It's about having perfect moments.

It's about having someone there to take up the slack when you fall short.

It's about trusting that God's still there helping you out and giving you what you need.

It's about learning and growing and being all imperfect.

And that's just perfect for me.

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