I became a mother at 30. Nothing about the process was natural. I conceived our son in a sterile office using all the available technology and science out there. Using the wonders of fertility medicine , we became parents. When I tried to breastfeed, nothing came naturally there either. I ended up taping a catheter connected to formula to my nipple shoving both into my sons mouth urging him to just suck and eat. Nada. I gave up quickly and fed him the good old fashioned way- with bottles. As I became a mother two more times using the same science and sterility, I started to wonder about maternal instinct and the mythology of motherhood I was holding myself up against. Why was it so hard to feed them and care for them and also maintain some sense of self and sanity? Was I not programmed the same way as the other moms who made it look, if not easy, than certainly less hard? Why did I find so much conflict within the concept of motherhood?
On the one hand, I knew in my bones that I wanted children. I ached to hold a baby during those infertile years. My arms seemed like useless appendages without a child in them. Everything around me screamed “BABY” to me and every negative pregnancy test was an affront to my core. My femininity, my purpose and my identity came under harsh self scrutiny. What was I without children? I lived in a family centered community and I was roaming aimlessly without. And then, I became a mother- three times over. I got exactly what I wanted. Dropping to my knees with gratitude, frankly stunned at our success, I felt redeemed and whole. But....
But being a mother to a 13, 10 and 5 year old often times feels as natural as conceiving them in the lab. I crave serenity and silence in a house that is loud enough to make your ears bleed. I crave solitude in a house crowded and chaotic. I often feel dislocated and out of sorts in my own bedroom knowing that my kids are right outside the door needing, wanting, yelling, destroying, fighting, being healthy and normal children. My husband gives me “time off” to write and be alone lest I lose my ever-loving mind and end up screaming and contorting my face into what could be a portrait titled “Mother on the Verge of Leaving”. I leave my house and am instantly more relaxed in my silent mini-van.
I often question my maternal instinct. I feel that my maternal ability is somehow attenuated since it’s hard for me to just “be” with my children. Is it because they’re hyperactive and high maintenance little people or is it because I wasn’t genetically wired to do this enormous job? Am I missing the maternal chip? Is it supposed to be this difficult? Am I alone in this?
On Mothers Day, so many women get to sleep in, take a break, be alone as a gift. So I know there must be other women who feel the way I do- at least some of the time. That feeling of being a mother is at once the most rewarding and most painful endeavor. That while I wouldn’t change one single thing about having my children, I often fantasize about moving to Bali and living in a quiet beachside hut where all I hear is the sea and the birds. I’ve given up the quiet in order to be a mother. But it doesn’t come naturally to me. It’s a struggle and it’s the sharp hard of two opposite entities trying to coexist . Trying to be true to who I am and what I need is often incompatible with having three young children. So, there are many quicksand days where its as easy to parent as trudging through mud wearing stilettos. I wear noise canceling headphones and pack lunches and try to be a day ahead of the mounds of laundry that seem infinite. I get resentful and short tempered. I put myself in a time-out to collect the remaining sane thoughts and remind myself that I wanted these children like I wanted to breathe. That without them I would flail about and eventually drown. That they are little people who need and love and poop and yell and laugh loudly. That they were gifted to me against all odds and rely on me to survive and grow into functional members of the world. There are so many quicksand days though and for some of us mothers it’s really hard and painful. Being told to be grateful and enjoy these fleeting moments fall on ears that are trying not to go deaf from the noise at home. Don’t judge us mothers who are losing it and want to run away to the ocean. Some of us mothers are working against our nature to parent. We’re doing the best we can with what we have. Be kind to us. It’s Mothers Day.