On Being a Mom

I never got gooey over Gerber ads. I never truly idealized or romanticized having babies around. Maybe earning my pocket money as a babysitter for several years during my teens demystified that whole motherhood thing for me.

I knew there'd be a goodly amount of vomit and poo and complications of one sort or another, and that just wasn't something I thought I'd be spending time on. I suppose I didn’t really think of myself as the maternal type. I knew that babies were cute and dribbly and fun to hold, and that they screamed and couldn’t be comforted, or would be comforted by small things, and that they played with their food.

I realized that babies turn into toddlers who scream, pull hair, pee in the potted plants and salt the dog; toddlers turn into school aged children who lie, bury their homework, pee in the bushes, refuse to wear underwear or socks, and who eat nothing but sugar if they can get away with it; and they become teenagers who... oh, well, in truth, my kids seem to have settled down to being good, responsible people, and I won't demean them by pretending otherwise.

Dealing with the material side of parenting is about what I expected it to be. I even hypothesized about learning disabilities, late-appearing physical shortcomings and the like, so as to mentally prepare myself for a range of scenarios.

What has been the biggest surprise to me on this 20-year journey has been the behavior of other adults.

My spouse, who despite having been in on the conception and the planning and the discussion (in fact, he was the one who started the discussion 19+ years ago), treated every diaper he changed as if he deserved sainthood for same and didn't really want the sainthood, and for whom every childhood complication, mess, or misbehavior simply caused him to participate less in the family. I don't know what he expected, but it wasn't what he got, which has changed what I got, quite considerably. I'm not blameless either. It has not been a wholly good thing. But it has, and continues to be, a learning experience, with all the baggage that entails, good and bad.

My mother, who was so enraged that I didn't name our daughter after her that she called my daughter by her middle name for 2 years, ignored my sons until they were in school and doing well, and who, on the flip side, actually does understand the drudgery of daily life at home and is openly sympathetic. She is often bizarre and inexplicable, but at least she remains a presence in my life and the lives of my kids.

My stepmother, who was never a willing mother herself, but who was the best grandmother I could have wanted for my children -- coming home from Portugal to be my duenna after my oldest was born, setting up savings accounts for them and faithfully contributing to those for over a decade, and offering to baby-sit for a couple of hours when they were back in the states, so that I could go out to dinner or just sit in a parking lot and enjoy the quiet.

A distant aunt-in-law who came and helped when my youngest was born and thoroughly cleaned the house, which had been falling into disrepair. After she left, she sent two thoughtful and useful gifts -- a can opener (ours was on its last leg), and a set of really durable dishtowels, which we still use, 13 years later.

My sister, who, after being a sister from hell to me, has been unbelievably generous, kind, and understanding to my children. By extending her love to them, it has seeped over to me, I’ve reciprocated, and we’ve become closer to each other because we love my children so much. She doesn’t have any of her own, and admits that she doesn’t think she’d have been a good mother, but she sure is one hell of a fabulous aunt. She never forgets a birthday; she might be late, but she doesn’t forget. And there have been Christmases when money was so tight that my husband and I forwent giving each other gifts so that we could make sure Santa brought something for the kids, and by some unspoken cosmic telepathy, my sister was especially generous to the kids in those years. I’ve thanked her, but I don’t know if she realizes that she saved their childhood holidays from potentially becoming grim.

My in-laws, who have diligently and consistently made sure to visit with the kids at least three times per year despite all kinds of disagreements they’ve had with me, with my husband and with extended family. Sides have been taken and hurtful nonsense spouted, but it never, ever, ever caused them to be bad grandparents. That takes a lot of character and love.

My husband’s siblings, who proclaim their wonderfulness and lovingness and compassion and generosity, but who have remembered very few of my children’s birthdays, and who have never made an effort to visit with them when in town, nor sent them letters, nor answered letters my children sent to them, nor thanked my children for the gifts they made… Not unless there was an audience of third parties to admire them for being such wonderful aunties and uncles. It has embarrassed my husband to the point of numbness, and it has hurt my children.

Other parents -- who were so competitive, predatorily so, that I stopped discussing my children with them. I never thought of my children as being pawns. The pace and tenor of their development belongs to them, and I never thought it was a reflection of my worth or me. I just think my kids are people, and I was glad to meet them, I've been happy to know them, and they will go on, move out, and find 365 days' worth of things to do that don't involve thinking about Mom, just as I have.

Doctors, who were always willing to blame the parents, but seldom looked deeper for organic causation unless pressed.

School district professionals, who knowingly violated laws designed to help children in order to better their bottom lines.

Teachers, some of whom made my gifted children sit doing nothing because the class "hadn't gotten there yet" and who were openly hostile and insulting to me, and others who treated my kids like they mattered, who exercised their creativity and compassion, and who listened when I spoke and were grateful that I gave a crap.

Yes, I’ve been surprised by the people who’ve shown my children unconditional love, by those who’ve been supreme professionals or good friends, and by the shallowness and selfishness of others. I suppose it’s part of the tapestry of life, and it makes me think about how I behave towards other people’s children and towards other people.

I’d like to believe it’s made me a better person – more sympathetic, more understanding, but I can never really know how I am perceived. I can only hope that I have learned from all of them. I hope I will continue to nurture myself, my children, my marriage, and the people I encounter to the best of my ability in each moment in time.