Deep Thoughts on Motherhood

So I've been thinking about motherhood lately, how for so many years I was angry about the whole thing. It took us thirteen months to get pregnant with the first kid, four months for the second, and I can't remember how long the third took to show up. I was so desperate for that first one, so happy to finally get pregnant. But when reality hit, I sure didn't like being a mom. I didn't like giving up my career goals. I didn't like being home all day long without the intellectual stimulation of attending college classes every day. I didn't like that no one told me I was brilliant, or that I had intelligent things to say. I didn't like that professors stopped calling to tell me how much they liked my writing, because I wasn't writing anything anymore. I didn't like smelling like spit-up or getting pooped and peed on. I finally understood what it meant to lose yourself, and I'm not talking about surrendering to the joys of motherhood and all that jazz. I'm talking about forgetting who you are or who you ever wanted to be, realizing that who you wanted to be would be an impossibility, a joke in your personal repertoire. To lose yourself meant the very real possibility that at the next holiday party you go to, you will become invisible once people find out that you don't "do" anything. You're just a mom.

These were my thoughts back then, when the kids were so small and helpless, and so needy. I was so miserable by the second kid that I would eat a pound of licorice each day, in bed, early in the morning. Licorice was like my drug to help myself get through the hours until my husband would get home and I could hand off the kids to him. I distinctly remember the day that I realized this was not a good thing. 

I was sitting upright in my bed, the open bag of red licorice at my side, reading some self-help book that advised me to speak my truth and do things that I used to enjoy when I was ten, before adulthood got the better of me. Only the author never said how I could do that with a two year throwing a tantrum at my feet and and a newborn puking on my shoulder. I stared down at the strings of licorice, so thick and sweet, and soft, laying there in their little cellophane house like a stack of red lincoln logs. It occurred to me that the licorice was not making me feel better. It was only making my thighs bigger. I was in danger of what Anne Lamott describes in her book Operating Instructions, that when she came to a complete stop, her thighs kept on moving. I thought about this as I munched on another string of licorice. I realized that I couldn't taste it anymore. Licorice was just something to chew, something with which to keep my mouth busy so I wouldn't scream. A bit of sweetness in my sour little planet.

Eventually I got better and stopped using licorice, although there were times when I could envision myself smoking on the back stoop when the kids really had a doodle of a day, even though I've never smoked anything in my life--at least not on purpose. I could handle being a mother better, probably because the baby started sleeping more after he found his thumb (which proved that God didn't have it in for me after all) and I started taking copious amounts of an herb called Vitex to balance my hormones. 

Now, twelve years after my tumultuous beginnings of motherhood, I'm understanding that my fears of "losing myself" were valid, but untrue. Maybe motherhood is not losing yourself in the sense that you never get yourself back, like the time I left my keys in the pocket of some jeans I gave to charity and they probably ended up in Africa somewhere and when the recipient put her hands in the front pocket she pulled out complete access to my car and my house. With nothing to open, she probably flung the keys over her shoulder. Or maybe she made a collage with them. Or maybe she gave them to her baby to play with. 

What's beginning to gel in my mind is that there is no loss, only growth. We become what we need to be at any given moment, taking things from our past experiences with us. No one is a static being. We all shed parts of ourselves to make room for the acquisition of new skills, new traits, new parts of ourselves we didn't know existed but are needed. We are adaptable. We are flexible. And we are never exactly the same person from decade to decade because our lives--and the people in them--are never the same either. Our lives are like a closet, our circumstances the clothes. When we are mothers of small children, we wear sweats and jeans. Then when the kids grow up, we can put the sweats away and put on something else entirely. If our circumstances don't allow for wearing the slinky work suits we used to love, we can rest assured they're still in the closet, waiting for us. And maybe when the time is right to wear them again, we'll decide the sweats are more comfortable after all. The trick is to enjoy what you're wearing at the moment, to really feel fabulous in it.

I used to think the kids weren't allowing me to be the person I wanted to be or do the things I wanted to do. Now I see that they've shaped me into something better than what I had envisioned. The funny thing (or tragic thing, depending on how you look at it) is,some things I thought I liked or wanted twelve years ago no longer appeal to me. The person I thought I wanted to be is actually a friend I wanted to be like. The career I yearned for is not something I really enjoy. The jobs I keep on applying for would be great for my sister, but not for me. These are things that would not have occurred to me had I not been "just a mom" for the last twelve years. So I've decided to declutter,cleaning out my psychic closet, sending things to Africa that no longer fit. Some things I will miss, like the teaching certificate that waits to be updated in my file cabinet and the bookmarked websites of big-time New York photographers. I can always keep the things I still like, and for those things that need replacing, I can always go shopping for something new.  

And if that doesn't work, there's always licorice.   

Comments

[Susan Sudol]

Susan loved your writing! But wait, you don't have teenagers yet. Don't get to comfortable with your closet, you just might need to buy a new house!!!!!

You amaze me!

[Susan Hayward]

Dana: I am liking this place in my life. But I am totally aware that it will all change at any moment. I feel like I'm on vacation right now and soon will have to return to work!

[Dana]

Loved this! You are in a good place in your life right now. Just remember it will all change as your children grow. When I thought there wasn't much more I could do with my life - changes came. Jobs I didn't anticipate, a new career at age 45! You are not done yet and even though this is the best time in your life, new growth for you could still be waiting just around the corner. Cherish the moment. It doesn't last!

[Shelly]

Thanks, Susan. I take comfort in your words, knowing I am not the only mom who has these feelings, and not the only mom who is less than perfect. I applaud you for your honesty in your writing!

[Laura]

My kids are still young enough this really appeals to me. I have learned a lot from having Lindsey 10 yrs ago. Balancing time for me and my kids is constantly part of my juggling act. But I find if I don't have something for myself I can't be a happy Mom. That took me years to not feel selfish about. Besides, isn't it good for kids to learn the world isn't all about them? Great writing!

[shelby]

How do I even begin to comment on that? Beautifully put, once again.

I may not be a professor but I can tell you that I very much enjoy what you write. Not only the things on your fun blog, but also on the gracious cards that often show up on my doorstep and make my day! (Thank you!)

[MaryBeth]

EXCELLENT interpretation of the feelings of mothers everywhere! To everything there is a season....and an outfit to go with it! :)
By the way, I think you have done an awesome job with every endeavor you take on...you always amaze me!
I love you!!