by christine castro

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be a mother. There were so many careers I thought I could be happy having—ballerina, fashion designer, magazine editor, to name a few—but there was only one job I knew I’d be devastated without. I had to be a mom, and I had to be a good one.

As I grew up, I daydreamed about being a good mom. A mom who cooks dinner every night and bakes cookies once a week, writes love notes and slips them in carefully packed lunches, and crafts Halloween costumes and holiday decorations. A mom who keeps a warm and colorful house that makes everyone feel at home. A mom who plays, sings, laughs and dances with you—and never melts down. And at the end of a day filled with all kinds of activity, a mom who reads a story to you and tucks you into bed.

My ideal mom was a combination of all the mothers I’d ever known, from my own practically perfect mom to my friend’s moms, from the elusive Martha Stewart to the easy, breezy Lorelai Gilmore. She was someone who didn’t exist. Someone who couldn’t exist.

Pregnancy woke me up. I got my first dose of reality as my body began to transform. My emotions were all over the place, and my energy was nowhere to be found. It seemed like other moms-to-be were ripe with inspiration and filled with an urge to create during pregnancy, but my creative well was drying up and I was exhausted all the time. I was able to work when I had to, but when the work was done, I shut off. I took long luxurious naps, met friends for meals I was craving and watched daytime TV. My journal that I’d hoped to fill with art and stories was left untouched. My life had become a blank book.

And then came Henry, my dear and darling son. The first month of his life is a blur of sleeplessness and bliss, of snuggling and staring at his perfect tiny self. I was grateful to spend some time just being with him and my husband Rama. My heart burst with love for our new family of three. It was a dream come true.

After a month and a half, it was time to go back to work, and I was ready. For the first time in almost a year, I craved working in my studio. I needed to dream and scheme, to make and create. As my body once more became my own—and as I got more sleep!—I could feel an ember begin to burn inside me. It was creative inspiration, and it was filling me like wildfire.

Ideas came to me in the shower, on the way to the grocery store, at the doctor’s office. I had so many visions and plans, and it was exhilarating. But it was also frustrating. Here I was, finally inspired, motivated, and excited, but there was little time to act on it. There were other pressing matters that required my attention, things like pumping milk, washing onesies, sterilizing bottles, and making dinner. Once all was said and done, I didn’t have a lot of time or energy left.

I wish I could tell you there was a defining moment when I figured out a way to balance it all, when I was able to make time to make everything I wanted to. But I can’t. I didn’t. I just know that somehow along the way, I began to find peace with my new juggling act. I realized that motherhood is creative. Never mind the obvious fact that pregnancy and childbirth are creative by their very nature. But there is art in the everyday tasks of being a mom, too.

Every single day I feed and groom Henry, who is a total work of art.
I sing made-up songs and tell not-quite-true tales.
I make a tunnel out of furniture and pillows and a drum out of a tin can and spoon.
I whip up elaborate dinners and bake picture perfect treats.
I fill our home with color and comfort.

With my family’s help, I’m able to devote a few days a week to design work. And occasionally, when the stars align (or when my Rama gives me the precious gift of extra time), I get to spend an entire afternoon or day to work on a project just for fun, just for me.

There are still days when I don’t feel like doing anything creative. I put Henry to bed and think, “Now I should get to work!” But the thinking is as far as I get. I end up sinking into the couch, disappearing beneath a blanket, and falling asleep in front of the TV. That’s okay.

I suspect it will be like this for a while.

And I am starting to think that this is the kind of mom I am. Not Martha, not Lorelai, and definitely not perfect. But real and complicated. Resourceful and clever. Busy and exhausted. Honest and beautiful. And a little bit messy. I am living my dream, but that dream is now rooted in the earth, not up in the clouds.

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Christine Castro Hughes finds beauty and wonder in the little, everyday things and brings them to life with her stories and art. She has been chronicling her life online for over 10 years, first on the award-winning website maganda.org, and now on her new blog, Brunch. Christine runs Darling Design, a graphic design studio specializing in logos & identities, web sites and custom invitations. Her work has been shown in galleries and featured in national publications. While she is proud of her creative accomplishments, Christine is convinced that her best work to date is her son, Henry, a collaboration with her amazing husband, Rama. They live, laugh and play together in a lovely, crooked house in sunny LA.

Join Christine for brunch or visit her Darling Design studio.