Motherhood: This Is Not A Drill
No, your child doesn't come with a manual. We all know this. We've all heard this. Some read and research, call others and compare notes, crossing our fingers and hoping for the best. It's acceptable to talk about. Encouraged even. "Don't worry," someone will tell you..."just call so and so; she's had the same experience with Suzy or Johnny — ask her."
But it's the other part of that statement that doesn't get addressed. No one tells you about it until after the fact, and then it's only approached very timidly. Motherhood does not come with a manual. No one tells you how to hang onto the woman behind the mother. Wouldn't it be nice if there were mass messages that went out to prepare us for what was coming: "This has been a test of your emergency broadcast system. If this were not a test, you would now be hearing instructions on your emergency and what to do next." Really? GREAT. I'll take those instructions now please, because I don't have the first idea what I'm doing, and instructions would sure come in handy.
What's the emergency, you may ask? Well, the emergency is, I don't know how I'm going to handle balancing being a mother and being myself. Permanently. I'm having a crisis of womanhood here, with "self" and "mom" stretching further and further apart, and this rubber band is about to snap. Cue the sirens, or screaming baby here.
To be fair, I wasn't living in fantasyland on the concept of motherhood. I knew what having a child would be like in theory. I babysat; I have cousins, nieces, and nephews. But I guess I thought it would look more like what I saw in the movies. Everyone on film goes through the harried baby experience, but it's usually in a montage accompanied by some uplifting fast-passed music that screams, "You can to it!" Then, at the end of the montage, the mom comes out the other side of it looking polished and pretty. All's resolved and she’s figured it out. And have great pedicures. Sign me up!!
But wait, motherhood isn't really like that. And the sensible part of me already knew it wouldn't be, but another part of me so wanted to believe it could be. I could in fact have that experience. It’s possible. Surely it's happening that way to someone...why not me? Maybe if I just buy the music from that motherhood montage scene that would help...
Well, as I'm sure you've picked up by now, it wasn't my experience. I feel lost, and I love my daughter. My self-esteem has taken a giant hit overnight, and I love my daughter. I don't know if I'm going to be OK, and I love my daughter. I keep repeating that I love my daughter because deep down, I know it's not really OK to say these things out loud (let alone write them to be read by tons of people). Sometimes I feel as though society says if I feel these things, it must mean I don't love my child enough. Because if I loved her enough, then these feelings would immediately disappear, and this motherhood movie that is my life could go on according to the script. Well I'm not buying into that. I say that being honest about my transitional experience as a mother does not discredit me from adoring and loving my child. I say both can and do exist at the same time. How do I know? Because I'm living it. And I think I'm proof enough for me.
So that's good, really. Once less thing to be concerned with, whether or not I'm going crazy. Finding the right balance between being the kind of mother I want to be and honoring myself as a woman has nothing to do with my love, affection, or commitment to my daughter. It's purely a seesaw for me to balance. Phew! We can now return to our regularly scheduled programming, and thank you listening to this message from the emergency broadcast system.
Author: Amy
