Being
a mom is such a trip. It’s a role I
really never considered until I found out it was actually happening to me.
It’s
been rewarding. I love my children. I’m
so fulfilled…blah, blah, blah…and all that happy horseshit.
What
they don’t tell you is that what comes with your bundle of joy is a Grand
Canyon sized load of hot steaming guilt.
It
starts even before you give birth.
I
don’t know how the Dodge dealership got my address, but when I was still only measuring my pregnancy in weeks, I got an invitation to come on down and test drive a new
mini-van. It said I’d need it for my
growing family and their brand had the top safety ratings. I got the message - the car I was driving (whatever the make and model) was a deathtrap. If I was a good mother, I'd want my baby to be safely ensconced in a state-of-the-art family roadster that seats seven.
Then
you actually make it to the finish line of your pregnancy – congratulations,
you’re in labor! Now here’s a whole new
ball of shit. Natural or not? Apparently, if you don’t want to go the Earth Mother route and white knuckle your way through mind numbing pain then you’re not a
good mother. Look, it hurts like hell either
way. Personally, I was praying that someone would hit me square in the head with an ax, just for the distraction. They don’t give out medals for this
shit, and while your kid may actually be impressed one day that you went 36 hours with no drugs, he'll just really be happy that you didn't Plan B his ass.
OK,
great so you survived labor. You have a gorgeous newborn to show for it. What are you going to feed her? Breast milk is
best, you know and all that blardy, blar, blar. If you don’t want to breastfeed (or if you can’t - they never mention that possibility, do they?), then you’re
a selfish monster who'd rather poison her baby with store bought formula and set her up for lifetime of obesity and disease. That ought to help you sleep at night. What am I talking about? You have a brand new baby, you're not sleeping anyway.
Are you going back to work? For some of us (myself included), there isn’t/wasn't a choice – no workey, no eatey. Plus, I
wanted something that was just mine…something that didn't have anything to do
with being a mother (gasp!). I wanted to provide
that example for my kids and I wanted my independence. But, there it is again… the guilt; dropping your kid
off at daycare, feeling like you’re missing all these important moments and as a result, irreparably damaging your child. You don't know whether you're saving for college or for a really good therapist.
The most craptastic part is that while the perception of guilt comes from inside our heads, it's what we see on the outside that puts the guilt trip in HD and 3-D:
- There’s that mother in your kid’s class that does stay at home and is the class mother, serving the kids gluten-free graham crackers and freshly pressed juice and you know for sure she's phenomenally and exponentially better than you.
- Then
there’s the mom that works but is always impeccably dressed and has on makeup - full face, not just lip gloss. Clearly she's a captain of industry; her beautiful business suit makes her looks like Sheryl Sandberg's protege. She's 'Leaning In' - in a big way. Apparently, she has
time to get mani/pedis and her hair done. Obviously, she irons her kid’s clothes and if she has a
daughter the parts in her princess’s hair are absolutely perfect. She's a goddess and her children will grow up and create a scientific consortium that will finally cure cancer.
- Finally, there’s the mom that actually makes the shit she brings to potlucks. I guess she doesn't sleep, but does that matter to us? We don't even consider it. When she lovingly peels away the foil from her handmade creation (that's probably from scratch), we’re trying to scrape the price tag off the plastic carton before we get out of the car.
Enough.
Enough. Enough.
Eventually,
I got so sick and tired of feeling guilty all the fucking time. I just decided to live with my best. If that meant store bought cookies, that’s
enough. If my kids' clothes and bodies are clean, that was enough. I wasn't going to turn my mind and soul inside out anymore in the hopes of re-making myself into this ideal, this perfect mother...that - let's face it - NO ONE CAN POSSIBLY LIVE UP TO.
I
hope that if you’re a mom and you’re reading this that you can also eventually
say “Enough” and know that carrying that burden doesn't make you a better mother or a better
woman.
It
just makes you miserable.
I. Say. Fuck. That.
Hope you do too.
