The Mantle of Motherhood
Since the inception of this blog, I've talked about my kids, parenting, and all the thrills and chills that involves. Which is only logical since this blog in it's earliest form was a Mommy blog, started before facebook was a thing, to tell my far-flung family what was going on with these new little people and their adventures. The mom blog merged with the farm blog, and then there was the writing blog. Now, I seem to be back at a crux again. I'm excited about writing, refreshed and renewed from the solo trip that was equal parts research through talking in person with old Africa hands, picking up a new-to-me truck and driving it home, and retreat to gather my ragged spirits and rally back into the chaos of my daily life. Which meant, of course, that I came home to more chaos than usual.
It's been twenty years since the mantle of motherhood first settled onto my shoulders. It's not a mantle you can simply shrug off. A king can abdicate his throne, a mother... yesterday whilst out shopping with three of my teens, one of them laughingly asked me what it was like to have grown four skeletons inside me. I didn't catch the early part of their conversation - something about breaking bones, and then 'mama grew your bones!' and that led to the question. Then the Ginja Ninja asked what it was like to have grown five brains inside my body. I pointed out her math was flawed but... but it's awesome, in both the slang and biblical sense of that word. It really is. And stopping to think through the awesomeness of the responsibility I have keeps me going on days when the kids are being more of a weight on my shoulders than normal. Like coming home from this trip to a dying cat, a messy house, my son announcing he no longer wanted to be an American (he wants to move to Japan or Canada, because Americans are rude and mean), my daughter dissolving over the cat's illness, and the brakes on my car in dire need of replacement (have been done. one more bill...).
It was like a heavy weight settled onto my shoulders and made me walk more slowly and feel like my spine compressed about an inch. As a parent, you have to put on a calm face no matter what's going on around you, because if you panic, everyone panics. Panic is non-productive, and can actually be counter-productive. So no matter what, the mother must be serene. Fortunately I'm in the wonderful relationship where I can close the bedroom door and cling to the calm of my First Reader, but that's not the way it's always been. So I appreciate it that much more. And there are times I need to be there for him to lean on, too. But as a mother... I need to think about those brains and how I can help them keep growing.
Sometimes that means rubbing your daughter's back while she sobs as the cat drifts off to sleep for the final time. Sometimes it means not yelling at your son when he throws your gift back at you because he doesn't want to be patriotic. Sometimes it means reminding another daughter that she needs to find a way to relax, because being tightly wound All. The. Time. is physically hurting her. All of the time, motherhood is being there to help guide them toward becoming adults who can in turn become parents in their own time (but not soon please god). I'm not going to dictate their lives to them. That would be as counter-productive as panicking when they lash out trying to upset me. I'm just going to keep feeding their bodies, listening when they talk, and offering advice when they ask. And sometimes when they haven't asked.
I don't think I realized... no. I know I had absolutely no freaking idea what I was in for, when I decided that fateful February twenty years ago to stop taking birth control and work on getting pregnant because I was excited about the idea of being a mother. I thought I knew. I'd read books. I'd observed mothers of my acquaintance. I was a logical, intelligent young woman who still thought she was going back to college any time now (with, yes, baby in tow). I was in way over my head. I have no regrets. I have four amazing human beings who keep surprising me with their flashes of insight, and sometimes with their ability to get in trouble. I am still learning how to mother them. Always will be.
Something I have learned? This mantle of motherhood doesn't ever go away. You have it for the rest of your life. There are times it's lighter and easier to wear. There are times it makes you feel like a bent and twisted old crone under the weight of it. But it is always there. Always.