Something just recently occurred to me.
I am a mother.
I am someone’s mother.
That is INSANE.
My mother is a mother. My grandmothers were mothers, my frumpy friends who had kids right out of college (and frighteningly, now have middle school- aged children) are mothers. But me? Maybe not so much. I’m just this young hot chick with a kid! Ha. That’s hysterical. I wasn’t even sure I wanted kids, and I sure as hell knew I didn’t want them early on. I enjoyed the freedom of my 20s; traveling when and where I wanted (when I could afford it), moving when I got sick of my apartment, dating the wrong people and staying out until the bars told us to leave.
I got married at 31, and being in New York, that was considered young. Some of my friends didn’t get married until their 40s, some not at all. Anyway, getting married did nothing to change my life, other than I had this person living in my apartment. And I wore a ring. I still traveled (with him and alone), I still maintained my social life with my friends, went to work everyday, and I pretty much carried on as usual. I was hardly going to become a housewife. I never understood how getting married justifies not having a job.
Fast forward to summer of 2010, when two lines showed up on a stick. And although I wasn’t surprised, per se, it was certainly a shock. Adios cocktails with girlfriends. Adios apartment in the city. Adios freedom. And even as my belly grew, I still hadn’t grasped that the thing moving around in my stomach was an actual person. It was still almost a novelty to me. And 43 weeks later in April 2011, when she was born, I still didn’t get it. During the time I was on maternity leave, the company I worked for went belly up. And suddenly, not only was I a mother, but I was a stay- at- home mother. And shit got real. I was now a NJ- living, CRV – driving, three- size- bigger- pants wearing, stay- at- home parent.
WHAT THE HELL?
Anyway, I have this little person that came out of my body. And I was a little confused. Did this make me a mother? I can tell you, in all honesty, that for a good while, I didn’t really even love her. Doesn’t that sound incredibly shitty? I know! I know! It felt pretty shitty too. Thankfully, I have talked to other mothers about that, and I find out that I am not alone. Now I can’t even find words to describe the ferocity with which I love this girl, but then it was a little different. I realize now that I was in pretty serious denial of a pretty serious case of post- partum depression. Anyway, as I am sure you know, it’s a really crazy thing, having a baby. You find out you’re pregnant, it grows in your person (weird and alien in itself), and then you push it out (or cut out, whatever the case may be), and then your body (and brain) is all fucked up, and then they send you home with it. And you’re supposed to know what to do. When we adopted our dog, the shelter came to our house to make sure that it was safe, and that we weren’t hoarders or junkies before they let us take THE DOG home, but no one came and made sure we weren’t maniacs before they sent us home with A BABY PERSON. And oh, by the way, you are supposed to feed it with your boobs (which in my case was extraordinarily painful), never put it down, and love it for the rest of your life. No pressure. But that is a story within a story. Another day, another day.
So here I find myself 2 years, 3 months and 2 weeks into this mother thing, and I am just starting to accept that the things I do are actually impacting this kid. Maybe it’s because she can talk a whole lot more now and I can understand what she needs. Maybe it’s just because she has the ability to absorb more now into her spongy little brain. Maybe it’s all of the above. It’s incredibly cute sometimes to hear her say things on her “phone” that I would say, but it’s also really frightening that I, a person who probably has no right procreating, am the one feeding her little noggin most of the time. Well, me and that effer Doc McStuffins. I’m no teacher, no rocket scientist, no genius. I’m certainly no saint, and I need to upgrade the brain- to- mouth filter because mine ain’t no good no more. I mean, we are trying to accept that we are old and we have become our parents. That all of the shit we said we were NEVER going to do we are actually doing. Or all that our parents said we couldn’t do? Oh, my kid’s totally going to do that! Except that Goobers stuff. The peanut butter and the jelly in one jar? My mom was completely right on that one. That shit is gross.
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- What I Actually Do (thehousewifememoirs.com)
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