I'm not the mother I thought I'd be.

A recently-divorced friend told me the other day that she is experiencing mom-related insecurity for the first time ever, feeling threatened and resentful of friends who seem to be doing it better than she is. She never had it, or at least not in the same way, before she was divorced.

Part of me was shocked that she hasn't felt it before now--hasn't every mother felt that from her child's infancy? And then I thought back to my own feelings about motherhood. My style of motherhood in particular.

Before children, and even before marriage, I knew I wanted to be a mother, and I knew what kind of mother I wanted to be. I wanted to be a lot like my sister Susan: she is completely devoted to her children. She doesn't work outside the home; she plans and cooks healthy, varied meals; she has chickens and a big garden and makes strawberry jam and even bakes bread sometimes.

We are also very different--where she is more scientific minded and carefully monitors her children's development (in a very good way, mind you), I wanted to be more artistic and free-spirited. I wanted to dig mud pits and build forts and do big messy art projects. I wanted to sew clothes and knit and spin and weave and maybe one day start a goat dairy. I wanted to mother like Amanda Soule from the Soule Mama blog (minus the homeschooling--you have to draw the line somewhere).

I am not that kind of mother.

I work away from home 20-30 hours per week, and I love it. I absolutely love my job (in general--not always day-to-day). As a writer for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I get to use and expand my talents in a very real, satisfying way. I have an opportunity to study and teach principles that can change lives for the better, including my own. I get to work with some very creative and spiritually-minded people, and even though we don't always agree, we do great work together.

I used to love to cook, but now dinner is a chore. We eat out more than we should. I have a hard time keeping up with the clutter. I am immensely blessed to have a husband who does the laundry and the dishes and cleans the bathroom regularly.

I don't go to PTA meetings or volunteer in the community. My home is not a gathering place for neighborhood children (the only kids on our block are too young to cross the street by themselves, so we're off the hook for now...). I only kind of know my neighbors.

This reality used to get me down sometimes. I would see other moms who appear to have it all together, who find fulfillment and joy in at-home parenting, and I'd feel a twinge of guilt. My heart is supposed to be at home, right? That is where I'm supposed to focus all my energies, right?

But then I think of my son, and the relationship we have and the relationship we're building. The questions he asks me and how we talk to each other when it's just the two of us. How he sits close to me on the couch when I'm knitting or stitching. How he leans on me when I read to him. How happy he is when I help in his classroom once a week. How we're working on that delicate balance of boundaries and trust and how my heart swells when it clicks. I think of all the things I want to show him and experience with him and learn from him and teach him.

And I realize, I'm not the mother I thought I'd be, but I'm pretty happy with the mother I am.