Posts Tagged ‘mother’

 

Gender Roles

Tuesday, October 4th, 2011

I recently took my child to visit his grandparents for a week. It’s always interesting hearing the things he comes up with in this completely different – often dysfunctional – environment; a setting that brings out in him a renewed confidence to speak his mind … ironic considering I tended to forget I had one when I was living there.

Sitting at the dinner table one evening, we were talking about someone we had met on a picnic, commenting on his wonderful sense of humour and eclectic flair. My father seemed out of the loop so my mother leaned in close and filled him in. “He’s gay!” she said in a whisper that made it sound criminal, her eyes flashing over to where my child was sitting.

“Pffft,” my child muttered, drawing himself up tall, folding his arms and mustering all he could of his six-year-old ego. “You do know that men can marry men and women can marry women, don’t you? Don’t you?” he demanded. I gave him the proud mum look … with a touch of amusement … then sniggered into my pumpkin risotto, waiting for a response. There was a stammering from the other side of the table … then silence … before my – much older – niece broke in with, “And men can marry women.”
“Ha!” came the reply. He smiled, relaxed and uncrossed his arms. “OB-viously!” he chuckled and continued with his dinner.

I don’t always know where he gets his information but I try not to shush him when he’s expressing himself even when it is at the expense of ‘normal’ dinnertime conversation in a house where even I am still learning how to fully express myself. I’ve learnt, though, since a recent conversation with my mother that perhaps we both need a lesson in boundaries when visiting there. There is a possibility my house will be sold and I will need to be out before Christmas. I have been telling everyone I’ll be going to Durban to stay with my folks for a while until I find somewhere to live, taking the unconditional love of my parents for granted. Prematurely it seems! My mother’s response to my suggestion was, ā€œHaha, it’s not going to happen.ā€ Clearly she has no trouble expressing herself … loud and clear!

Happy Mothers’ Day

Sunday, May 8th, 2011

I will begin by stating that I love my child since this is a detail that tends to get lost at moments during the reading of this blog. There were times when I wished him away … well there were times, once the morphine wore off, that I wished everything away … but that was pre all the adrenalin-junky leaps of faith that I have subsequently taken. I have lost him a couple of times … ok, not really lost him, but rather misplaced him … and it felt like my soul was being violently ripped from my body. And, you know something, I’m glad it happened. Sure, I wouldn’t wish to feel that agony and trauma ever again but I am thankful for the feeling that my world would end without him. That feeling made me acknowledge that I would cut off my right arm with a blunt saw to keep him safe … that feeling made me acknowledge that I am a person who has custody of a child … that feeling made me feel like a mother … finally.

I had a friend once who, when people asked her what she does, always began with, ā€œI’m a motherā€, before stating profession etc. For me my job came first, my hobbies next and the label, Mother, was tagged on the end as an after-thought, along with Wife … a possible explanation for my current relationship status.

Unprompted, this morning, my child climbed into my bed and gave me his interpretation of a bear hug. ā€œI love you because you are my mum. Happy Mothers’ Day!ā€ he said, and I wanted to cry for all the crappy days I’ve had as the difficult mother I am to my child … guilt creeping in more and more as he tidied his bedroom, cleaned up the TV room and threw his arms around me every chance he got.

I suppose my point is that although being a mother is not something I would have chosen and although I bitch about it constantly, it’s purely a branding issue and it has nothing to do with my son and the incredible person he is. Just because motherhood isn’t for me, doesn’t mean having this person in my life isn’t exactly how I want it to be. I needn’t slot into convention and I needn’t adopt the branding but today I acknowledge my role.

And on that note, as a single mum, I have to take the opportunity to wish all those hot mamas out there a Happy MILF Day.

ā€œSame, same, but different.ā€

Tuesday, July 20th, 2010

Just like the expression that rolls off the tongues of so many Nepalese stallholders, it just so happens that my sisters all have a totally different take on our household environment and the way we were raised … as though we were raised by different parents. What’s interesting though is that the older we get the more common ground we find … as though our cellular memories are starting to meld.

During this time of ā€˜escaping to mummy’, I have had the opportunity to spend the first ever quality time with the sister who is number three in line (I am number four). She’s never liked me but it’s never been relevant since we have never spent enough time together for it to matter. But talking this time, we have together discovered the reasons for this dislike.

You grow up in the same household as someone and just go ahead and assume what you know is known by your siblings too. You also assume you are being brought up by the same parents. Both these things are not the truth. I was stunned when my sister told me that she had no idea that I was a paid informer. I thought it was known across the whole snobby middle-class neighbourhood that my mother rewarded me to snitch on my sisters. It just seemed so obvious … the same way I learned never to tell my other sisters anything that I didn’t want my mother to know. I have had three sisters for almost 40 years and it is only now that a foundation for any kind of sisterly relationship is developing because of a mother who incites a kind of sisterly antagonism every time she is around. I know she never meant to but I can’t help but wonder whether deep down she harboured a jealousy of a bond she couldn’t be part of. Perhaps she was concerned that we might shut her out. Regardless, I ponder the reasons she seems critical of the bond I have with my own child and I realise that I carry with me a lot of her baggage when I proclaim that there will only be one child in my life.

ā€œThere are no facts, only interpretations.ā€ Nietzsche

The two Janes

Friday, July 31st, 2009

Pseudonym or real name? … not important. These women brought me up unwittingly while paying me to help bring up their own children … when I was barely over being one myself.

Later when I was pondering the huge decision of whether or not to have a child, the first person I asked was one of the Janes. She never tried to convince me one way or the other, merely told me that having a child would allow me access to a different part of life – like studying part time or getting a new job or moving house or country. All these things have the same effect on your life: they make you adjust to something new.

The same Jane gave me some very useful ā€˜no nonsense’ tips on bringing up baby:

If you need to go to the toilet or have a shower, your child will survive your absence

A child can’t die from crying

A child will not starve itself … i.e. if it hasn’t drunk exactly 300mls of milk, it’s because it doesn’t need it

You can’t look after your child if you don’t look after yourself

Turns out she wasn’t much help once baby was born. Maybe she thought I was all grown up and ready to tackle life on my own finally.

Person to person

Wednesday, August 6th, 2008

In case my last post caused people to wonder about my ability to actually be a parent, I am surprisingly a really good one. Perhaps not from a traditionally maternal perspective but definitely from the
perspective of perfectionism. Everything by the book … and then some. I love my child to the point of obsession and that may not make me the perfect mother but it’s a good start. I nurture him just enough,
discipline him, and ensure that he has all the tools to help him grow into an intelligent, pragmatic (well, the fact that he’s a Virgo may help there), well-balanced man. He is not mine. He is a perfect little person who has chosen to come to me and I am going to do my best to ensure he gets everything he needs … from an adult perspective.