Villanelle on Motherhood

(Writing this poem was a major turning point when I was in counseling for depression a year into my career as a mom. Another major turning point was finding these folks and really starting to internalize that it was okay to just wing it.)

What am I now? I must be something more
Than abstract platitudes, a pretty list
Of what's left over after all the chores.

Mothers are angels, heroes to adore;
One crowning star for every owie kissed.
When do I change? I thought I would be more.

I once had gifts and goals--that was before.
The onslaught now refuses to desist.
There's always work to do after the chores.

I tried the books, the magazines, the lore,
But perfect mommies don't even exist.
What can I do? There must be something more.

The smartest child on Earth can be a bore,
And boredom feeds despair, 'til we resist
The joy left over after all the chores.

It can't go on, can't stop, can't be ignored.
They say there's peace. They promise. They insist.
So who am I? I must be something more
Than what's left over after all the chores.

© Rachel Spitler
July 18, 2011