It’s past midnight and I am awake. I am awake because my six year old is in bed next to me and I’m afraid she’s going to kick my belly, where I’ve just had surgery. She’s in my bed despite my many warnings and detailed explanations of why she can’t sleep in my bed for a few days. She’s asleep next to me because when she walked into my room, bleary eyed at around 11pm I said “ok you can sleep in mummy’s bed”. So technically I have no one to blame, but myself.
I know that a lot of mums find themselves in this catch 22 type situation. Especially mums from Asian countries who are constantly conditioned to put their children and their husbands before themselves. It’s insane. You tell yourself, Cos you’re educated and liberal minded, ‘I am not going to do this and be backwards’ – but goddammit you end up doing the same blady thing and you wonder where the hell that came from.
If you trace the root cause of this phenomenon it, almost always, has to do with social conditioning, patriarchy, gender stereotyping and basically repetitive behavioural patterns. I’m no anthropologist, but I am a mother and if you’re a mother you know stuff – am I right ladies? I’m reminded of the poem ‘Inheritance’ by Eavan Boland, where the speaker fights against stereotypically feminine notions, only to be swept up in a wave of ‘motherhood’ following a night with her sick infant. While I may not be a scientist, I cannot deny that being a mother triggers some sort of gene that alters your behavioural pattern and you’re imbued with knowledge and yearnings you’ve never thought possible. The concept of motherhood cannot be learned or repetitive because we only have to look at mothers in the animal kingdom to know that the selflessness, nurturing and protective nature is probably something that comes with having a uterus – for sure.
However there’s also a lot of guilt, regret and in my case sleeplessness. I have, on more than one occasion, regretted my children. If you ask any mum about her kids, she’ll tell you that her kids are the most amazing children in the world – and she’s probably right. Because there is genuine wonder in the appreciation of the human beings that you’ve birthed who have now progressed into actual persons. Yet one thing a mother will not admit is animosity towards the beings that she’s birthed. This behavioural pattern is of course learned. I wonder why though? On occasion, my adorable, smart and intelligent children can be brats. Incorrigible, intolerable, simultaneous pains-in-my-ass. And in that moment I question God as to why I was saddled, yes saddled, with these tyrants who threaten my sanity and peace of mind.
I know a few brave women who admit, in public, that their children are a pain. I also know a few women who deny vehemently that their children give them trouble, and confidently underscore what absolute angels their children are. But let’s be real here ladies, are they really?! I think kids deserve to know they are not angelic. I think kids deserve to know that yes, I am your mom and I think you’re pretty cool for something that came out of my womb, but sometimes I worry for the world because you’re a piece of shit right now. I think kids deserve to know that they try our patience – because they do. They try our patience, our sanity, our finances and our personal lives. Kids need to know that we are not this endless, giving, warm, fuzzy cloud of love, warmth, happiness and money. They need to know we are people too. And this is something which is a recurring motif in my writing – that mothers need to remember that they’re people, and kids need to know that their moms are people too.
Mothers should be selfish sometimes. Yes, genetically we want to give and give and give. But society has told us that all we can do is give – and this is wrong. We need to be ourselves too. Once my children are 18 they’re going to leave me. At 13 or 15 my son will no longer realise that my hugs and kisses are as enticing as some other girl he’s crushing on (thank god) and will prefer some other woman’s arms to mine – and I need to be ok with this. I need to learn to let go. We need to learn to let go. We must accept that our kids will never love us, adore us, sacrifice for us the way we have for them – and we shouldn’t expect them to. Therein lies the root cause of many personality disorders of mothers. A woman of 40 or 50 unable to let go of a child whom she’s raised for 18 to 20 years of her life – mathematically that’s not even half her lifetime. The sad story is that this woman allows this short period of her lifetime to dictate the rest of her lifetime. No! Women are more, so much more than that.
Motherhood is Grey – you’re damn right it is. It is also the most fulfilling feeling a woman, who is a mother, will feel. It is also the most painful – both physically and mentally. There is never a completely right or essentially wrong thing you can do – and that fucking sucks. I’ve always been pro-choice, and pro-abortion, but when I saw my daughter’s beating heart on that ultrasound I didn’t know any more. That’s how motherhood messes with your head. It makes you warm and fuzzy and throws rationality and logic to the wind.
Motherhood is some seriously grey shit and This is why my daughter is currently in my bed right now, and why I seriously wish I hadn’t allowed her to creep in. But you know, she’s pretty darn cute – especially when she’s quiet and asleep. HOWEVER, tomorrow she will be curtly informed that until my stitches have healed, I’m sleeping by myself thankyouverymuch!
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