It seems my last post caused a bit of a private kerfuffle. I won't go into detail, but what I wrote about super-happy mothers may have come off as an (unintentional!) attack, and I am feeling the need to defend my position here.
I had a strong urge to have kids when I was in my early 20s. I was also desperate to get married. In retrospect, I know that my desperation stemmed from my fear of having to find my own way in the world, and I just wanted to hide behind someone else's name, someone else's profession, someone else's identity (i.e., a husband). I wanted to have kids so that I wouldn't have to find and struggle through an actual career. THIS IS NOT TO SUGGEST THAT OTHER WOMEN MARRY YOUNG FOR THAT REASON. This was ME.
As fate would have it, I just never met the right guy, and I was forced to find my own way alone. Although I was desperately lonely, I feel like I made the most of it. Traveling. Taking interesting classes. Living in cities. Trying new and exciting things. I really started to enjoy my adulthood.
Well, then I did meet the right guy, and by the time we were in a financial position to get married, I was in my mid-30s and figured it was probably now or never with respect to children. After living in LA for two years, where many of our friends were childless (and fabulous as a direct result), I was firmly planted on the fence about having kids. We only halfway tried, and I was lucky enough to get pregnant. However, having lost my baby fever a decade earlier, I was apprehensive about it, and horribly sick to boot. Later, the kid nearly ruptured my organs with her kicking; I knew this was not just me being a baby because the delivery nurses commented that they'd never seen a newborn kick like that before.
The first few months after her birth, what I had been led to believe would be a carnival ride felt like I had been in a gruesome car accident. I was in tremendous physical pain from the surgery. I was disfigured. The sleep deprivation/recovery combo was a thousand times harder than the worst thing I could imagine. I'd have to get up to feed Sascha and then pump, getting half the sleep that breastfeeding mothers get. My boobs didn't work; I saw about a dozen professionals, including some lactation consultants so confident in their abilities they could probably get a man to breastfeed, throw their hands up in surrender and shake their heads at me. I even whipped out a sweaty boob at a new neighbor, a self-described expert, hoping she could help. She couldn't. Everyone said "I've never seen anything like this before." I was desperate and heartbroken.
And then there was Sascha. She wasn't much of a snuggler. At three weeks, she put her hand on my chest and pushed me away from her. There didn't seem to be as much cooing and smiling from her as there were suspicious glares, like Stewie Griffin. It's funny now because I know her strong Scorpio personality, but damn. My kid kind of rejected me. Some of my friends did too. I cried constantly. As she grew older, I heard from people who knew her best (my mom & sister) that she was way more challenging than your average kid. And they have known lots of kids.
So that is where I'm coming from. When I bitch, it's part catharsis, part bewilderment (like what the hell is up with this child?) and part begging for someone to tell me it's not me, it's Sascha. I guess I feel like when she was born, I figuratively tripped and fell on my face-- black eyes, knocked-out teeth-- with the shock of it and how ungodly awful it was, and everything in my life was kind of ruined. It turned out to be the exact, polar opposite of what I had heard about motherhood, which made me feel fifty shades of guilty and awful, and betrayed by the message of "oh, the heavens will open up, you will believe in god and understand the meaning of life, no other accomplishment will matter, and you will finally be complete as a woman!" People would get mad at me for not feeling grateful. I got zero fulfillment from that baby. I hated myself for feeling that way. And I'm only just now starting to get my footing in life again, now that I've lost the weight and she is communicating and her tantrums are lessening and we're all just finally figuring this out. Now, the heavens open up for me when she says she likes orange juice, but that's probably because it's not screaming coming out of her mouth.
Part of the reason I want another child is to roll the dice on an easier baby; to see if it was just me, if it was my fault, if I was the colossal failure in this whole crazy experiment. And if it was? Well, then Sascha will have someone to help her through therapy. (Oh, shut up, I'm not beating her. To be honest, I am constantly smothering her in unwelcome snuggles. I'm like Pepe le Pew with that kid.)
So that is my experience. I am defending myself, but I'm not trying to say I don't suck. It is not happy mothers who suck. I am the one who sucks. I am the dog. Actually, I should change the name of this blog to Why I Suck. That would be kind of awesome.
Friday, April 10, 2009
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5 comments:
I predict when Sascha grows up you two will have an unusually close mother/daughter relationship- I don't know why- just a hunch. I bet she is a very intelligent girl just frustrated with being young- once she can do somethings for herself, she'll get easier. Been reading your blog for over a year & love your honesty. Hate the idea of someone giving you grief over what you write because you feel what you feel- nothing wrong with that!
You know, it kind of sucks that some people have such thin skin and/or no sense of humor that you are driven to defend yourself on your own blog! The fact you struggle and cuss and hate things and get exasperated with your kid is part of the reason that random Moms like me, here in NYC, follow you. i don't make many friends with other mommies because I can't stand that oversensitive BS around imagined slights about their parenting. We're all making this sh*t up as we go along... So to your private Kefufflers, I would say this; What? You need the PERFECT relationship with your kids AND constant reassurance that you are a perfect Mother too? Relax. Really.
Thanks you guys, but I don't want to drag the Kerfufflers into this... we've cleared things up. She's a very old, very dear friend.
Even though Sascha is, by all reports, a challenging kid, also I think a lot of the stuff we're led to believe about the unconditional love our small kids will give us is just wrong. The love at this stage in the game seems very conditional -- at least in day-to-day life. And that is really hard. And, unlike our partners and grown-up family members, who have the good sense to reassure us their love is unconditional, little kids won't do that (unless you force them, I suppose, and no one wants to do that). Little kids are perfectly content to push you away, say they want the other parent, act like you're the exact person they DON'T want to see, etc.
It is tough. I am learning to really relish those moments when Henry actually says he loves me back. It always happens when I don't expect it and am not looking for it, a cruel irony. Never at the end of a really tough day -- oh, no, then it's like I am talking to a brick wall. I am trying to carry the good memories with me to whip out when I really need affirmation.
This is why I hang on your every word. You are real and show me my life is real too. I am not a perfect mother, my kid is not perfect either. Thank you for showing me we are normal. I appreciate it, I really do.
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