Motherhood has been nothing like what I expected. I don’t know if that is a testament to my mother being better at it than me or if I just did it all wrong. It hasn’t been bad – I wouldn’t give it up for any amount of wealth or power – but it hasn’t been what I thought. I also think it’s fair to say that my experience is atypical in a number of ways.
When I had Dude, his dad and I were in a marriage that by the time of his birth was more like roommates. He did his best to stay away from home as much as possible both during the pregnancy and following. None of my close friends had kids or even wanted them. I was always very committed to having it all – the marriage, the kids, the career, and the social life. When I had Dude, I was at home for 8 weeks on maternity leave. Just me and my colicky baby and no real interaction with adult humans. It was one of the most isolating times in my life.
That said, when I took Dude to daycare for the first time when he was 8 weeks old so I could return to work, what I felt wasn’t the overwhelming sadness other mothers report. I was relieved to get some level of autonomy again.
Every stage of parenting has been a bit atypical like that for me. Sometimes it makes me think I’m broken in some way, but other times I am grateful for it. I’ve had people ask me, if I could go back in time and make the choice again, would I still have chosen motherhood? I have never heard another woman with children even flirt with the idea that she would have made a different choice. I honestly don’t know. I think in the end, yes, I would still choose motherhood. But I’m only about 51% confident. The truth is that motherhood has broken me, irreparably, more than anything else ever could have. It has taken more of me than I ever expected and given less back than I thought I was entitled to for the work. And yet…there is something magical about it. There are these adult humans running around the world making mostly the wrong choices but full of life and love and passion and dreams…. There are people there who I just think the world needed.
My kids don’t always like me, and I don’t always like them. These days I find myself frustrated as I watch them make mistakes that they won’t know are mistakes for 20 years. When they are little, you are in control of everything. The older they get, the less control you have and then you get to an age when you aren’t even able to voice your opinions very often. But…be grateful for that.
My children are alive. They are healthy. They are making lives for themselves (even though they’re doing it wrong). They call me. Always in the car when they don’t have anything better to do, but they do call and text and when it’s really important to me they show up. Sometimes they go through phases when they want to hang out with me a lot and other times they’ll go 6 months keeping me at arm’s length. But that’s because they are out there figuring it out for themselves. There is agony in that, but there is also beauty in that. These people I made and/or raised – they make this world a little more interesting, a little more beautiful, and a little more exhausting. Just by existing.
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