No matter how free from attachment you might become, there is always the child. That child can take everything from you: your time, your money, your patience. But he is always the most important thing in the world, regardless of that little resentment that sometimes creeps in. But when he strokes my face in the morning to wake me up with “I love you mummy”, I could give him my soul as well.
Posts Tagged ‘motherhood’
Here but lost
Monday, December 7th, 2009I realised, during a training session for the KARABO grief-counseling program, that I have always suffered grief for the loss of my mother. This isn’t because my mother died but because I never had a mother – well, not in the sense of my belief of what a mother should be. Too much stuff to actually go into any kind of detail here but the over-riding taint is someone who critisised most and praised little. Add to this the corporal punishment that was so trusted by that generation and the result is inevitably a person with not much faith in her ability. I turned slightly psychotic when I had my own child – I became tearful at the very suggestion that I should discipline with smacking, I went into self-loathing every time I shouted at my child and I screamed at my husband if he didn’t treat our child with total respect.
I had to go back to the basics: praise the good, ignore the bad and dig deep for the love … basic guidance from puppy socializing classes. Fine, I don’t always ignore the bad – I’m flawed! – but, besides putting up boundaries, I reward with stars and tell him every night, as he is going to sleep, all the things I love about him. There has to be a way to confine the wild horses without breaking their spirits.
Running screaming from motherhood
Tuesday, July 21st, 2009When I was desperately trying to find paying and/or volunteer work so as to not have to be at home with my child, it had less to do with getting away from him and so much more to do with getting away from the person I was terrified of being. I have always sold myself as a mother who runs screaming from motherhood … and that is exactly who I am. I don’t think I ran away from my baby, I believe I ran away from myself as the person having the baby.
I have identified myself by so many different things in the past. I am and have been a runner, a sister, a photographer, a consultant, an adventurer, an employee, a bulimic, a daughter, a swimmer, a friend, a hiker, a traveller, a shoe lover, a writer, a volunteer, an executive, a drinker, a scholar, a BMX rider, a failure, a girlfriend, a mess, a wife, a party girl, a poet, an employer, a shopper, a patient, an explorer, a lover, a thinker, a designer, a squash player, a rebel, a teacher, a critic, a pragmatist, a success.
So many things and so many changes … yet it was just the one label – mother – that totally flawed me. As I change yet again, I am reminded that I have to accept the role I am in and not necessarily define myself by it.
Postscript to Mother’s Day
Monday, May 11th, 2009I hope all you mums had a great day and got to feel appreciated … whether you felt it should come from the child or the child’s father. I have to mention that my child was appropriately prepped and I was presented with the smiling Jolly Jammer with my morning tea. I also got a card with a portrait of me … with an upside down face and about twenty fingers on each hand. With my husband out of commission for the day, I got to spend the whole day playing rugby and football on the beach, followed by cricket at home and my child even left me to read in the sun for an hour while he listened to story CDs and generally entertained himself. As much as I scream about motherhood and mothering, days like these make it all worthwhile.
More choice?
Sunday, May 10th, 2009As I stumble down the stairs with yet another bundle of laundry, I can’t help but ponder my choices … specifically the one that prevents me from chasing down my parallel dweller and demanding my life back so I can go to work and leave all this behind. The child wet his bed, the dog is particularly needy and the husband is being passed over for all the small stuff that seems to never get done without the correct prioritising. It’s a mess. It’s my mess. It scatters me.
What defines you as a failure? Who decides? Do we? Or do we put that decision in the hands of people who care little about us, and possibly don’t even know us at all?
Considering my choices, I realise that value does not come with a paycheque. Too many people are working too hard to prove that they are valuable and getting nothing but grey hair and a redundancy package.
It’s entirely up to you whether you want to feel like a complete failure … or whether you can accept that you are just changing your focus and accept that you have been a success and you can still be a success – just without the paycheque. Having said that, it took me almost three years to realise that I didn’t have to run screaming from motherhood and that equality doesn’t come with that paycheque but rather with a meeting of minds. I do sometimes hanker for my life without a child, for the comaraderie of a job, for the satisfaction of knowing I am going to get paid even if I am not really valued.
I saw a stone statue of a woman at Kirstenbosch. It is a woman carved in stone, sleek and bold, elegant and poised. The plaque read something along the lines of: a woman wants to be beautiful and respected but also wants to retain some of the traditional values. The woman I was there with has a 2-year old daughter and she has decided now to quit work as she’s done the whole corporate thing for so long and she realises she is missing out on the other stuff at a time when the ‘other stuff’ is slowly disappearing (i.e. each day that passes is a day you can’t get back with your children). I also read something in a Steve Biddulph book that goes something like: the work of the old days took physical labour but at least it only took your body; these days you have to give your soul.
We have too many choices as women these days but what we have to realise is that they are still choices. We don’t have to do it all. We actually get to choose. It’s pretty fabulous if only we could deal with our choices and not always want what we have given up.
I work for free now, giving my time in little ways to children who need me. My paycheque is the incredible satisfaction I get from reaching out. And because I now have a job to go to, it doesn’t matter that there is no actual paycheque because I have finally found where I need to be. This makes the work I do at home so much more valuable to me as it no longer scatters me but keeps me grounded. I realise now how easy it is to slip into the dark places.
There’s been a shift. I am finally comfortable in this space as I have accepted it ‘for now’. I am giving my heart but I am not giving my soul.
Babbling Blues to Rasping Reds
Saturday, June 7th, 2008No sooner had we started school (and I say we because this is most definitely a family experience), than possibly my biggest test of motherhood yet (motherhood, because this is way above the radar of any self-respecting father) presented itself at the local Montessori. I had to rescue my ‘baby’ from the nappy brigade! In the throes of building works, it was difficult to notice anything other than my own primal screams and shocking bad mood at anything that crossed my path … and, of course, a mother always blames herself first when her child is unhappy.
Every parent believes that his or her child is advanced, so it is not surprising when I say that mine is. A two-and-a-half year old who has never used a potty, was out of daytime nappies before he had a conscious memory and who says things like actually, rather and prefer in his regular sentences is not your average two year old (and even less so when you consider the fact that this is a male child I refer to). He was lumped in a classroom (and I use the term classroom in the loosest sense of the word) with snotty-nosed, nappy-wearing, dummy-sucking, screeching, incoherent babies who used two-word sentences usually comprising little more than uppie or doggie (note: not words in my child’s vocabulary … of course not). Not even one term into the year and I noticed the regression. When he was forced to use a potty in the playground because the teachers don’t take kids indoors to use the toilet at playtime … I had to stage an intervention!
Many mountains have been climbed in my life but, at this stage, it felt like I was climbing the Himalayas … and then some. In one week I conquered the building peak, my book-publishing peak and the preschool peak. I steamrolled them, flattened them, made sure they knew that I was there and best I’m not ignored. The building work is far from perfect, my book print-run had me in tears, but my child … well, he is now with the 3 to 6 year olds and begs me to take him to school every day, including weekends. I did good by him and that makes everything else in my life pale into insignificance in comparison. These tests are meant purely as a mother’s coming of age. My first test came early enough for me to start getting used to the fact that this is a relentless life-long commitment with no shortcuts, cheating or easy outs.
My coming-of-age party is scheduled for sometime in 2030s.
Am I old enough for this?
Tuesday, September 11th, 2007I’m 35 … ish … but am I really old enough for this. Anyone is old enough to soothe a baby back to sleep, bath a baby and feed it, read storybooks and sing songs. But what of the future child, teenager and adult I have brought into the world. As I coo in my son’s ear and tell him all will be OK, all I can hear is my child inside; the voice that tells me that I am too young to have this kind of responsibility, to be the guardian of such purity.
The Anti-Mum
Wednesday, August 29th, 2007An avid campaigner against the need to have a child has reached a stage of her biology that she is battling to hold at bay. As the last of her peers to be childless, she feels her life is lacking something and that this indicates that she needs a baby.
Nobody needs a baby; most people just want one. It’s immaterial what your motives are for either wanting one or not but you have to be very clear on what you actually need.
Wanting a baby requires you to want it badly enough to compensate for the loss of freedom, mobility, travel, late-night parties and the halving of your relationships.
But when you choose the alternative, you have to be strong enough in the face of the social pressures, the emotional guilt and the need to know if it will ever be enough to not have one.
Having a baby is like upgrading or downgrading your neighbourhood … whichever way you choose to look at it. It’s a lifestyle choice. Take it or leave it but never feel it is so integral to life that you will feel incomplete without it.
Walk the Line
Tuesday, June 19th, 2007So, you’re feeling evil about having bad thoughts about your newborn. Everyone around you is offering you words of encouragement, but you never let on how you’re really feeling. You’re terrified of being judged a bad mother. You feel inadequate because everyone around you behaves like they were born to motherhood. It looks effortless … or is it just a sham?
There is a thin line you have to walk, a veritable balancing act. You do everything possible to do all the right things for your child so you can be seen in a good light. But it’s a trap! You must do your best up to the point that you don’t surpass any of your peers in your apparent parenting ability. You should never be seen as one of those self-satisfied mums with a perfect life and a perfect child. Cope enough to be seen as a good mother, yet battle just enough to still get the sympathy of your peers.
Stepford and Star Trek
Friday, June 15th, 2007You remember the claims made by the Stepford Wives.
To recap:
‘Your life becomes so amazing when you have a child.’
‘You’ll fall in love with your child as soon as you see him.’
‘Your bond with your husband becomes so much stronger.’
You add Borg to the list of insults … You have a baby and you become a mother. Just that. A Mother. It’s like your slate is wiped clean and any identity you had prior to this event is immaterial. You are suddenly morphed into the collective. Unique no longer features on your DNA. As for the Stepford Wives, none of those feelings kicked in. My life did not become amazing. I was up to my elbows in sour vomit, crappy nappies and washing. I did not fall in love with my child. Quite the contrary, I felt like throwing him against the wall. My bond with my husband didn’t become stronger. In fact, I often wanted to throw him against the wall too.
What doesn’t kill you makes you want to die
Wednesday, June 13th, 2007The last time I had this thought was when I was cycling the Argus (109km around the Cape Peninsula i.e. many, many hills), the day after arriving in Cape Town on holiday – with a hangover. I am not a cyclist so the 7+ hours it took me to complete the course felt like an eternity. This is like motherhood, except motherhood is an eternity.
A new mother should never be let out of hospital so soon. Unless there is a support team, a few cheerleaders and several spare bicycles, no one would embark on a race of such epic proportions. You leave the support behind when you walk out of the hospital, armed with nothing more than a tiny baby and a bottle of painkillers.
The rush was so intense, the painkillers were sure to push me over the edge. So I endured the pain and let the exhaustion get me instead. This is a race with no finishing line.
