One is the loneliest number. But it's been a long time since I felt all alone. Sometimes in raising chidlren, navigating the waters of marriage, relationships, and friendships, one feels that he or she is up against the world. But that feeling is fleeting and often tied to a very specific moment of tension, stress, and fatigue. I write this blog because I know I am not the only one who has stared into the eyes of a three year old in a stand off and wondered how the heck did I get here?!? I know that I am not the first to feel lost and confused as I transitioned from hot, young thing to Mummy in Mom jeans. I am not the first to fly two hours with two little ones, their car seats, almost all the toys from the toy box, snacks, DVD player, and coats tied on my head only to arrive at an overheated airport with one who has to use the toilet immediately. Or had vomit in my hair, my mouth, on the new carpet. I am not the first to have a bullied child or a baby who calls me countless times in the middle of the night. I would surely be incredibly narcissistic and self-involved if it were my intention to imply that no one has suffered as I. I write this to share, to commiserate, to have a laugh, and let off steam.
Talking with other parents and caregivers, I am mesmerized by our ability to rear these people, keep them safe, polite, kind, well-fed, dressed, well-kept, while kissing them, loving them, smiling at them, being all for them. I am often knocked senseless in shock and awe at just what it is that parents are called on to do. Had I received some kind of manual I would certainly not have believed what it was preparing me for. I would have said, no way is this going to happen, probably just minutes or seconds before said disaster came to pass. I like to talk about it, to recount the stories. Sometimes because what one of the girls has said is so funny or so profound, I want a witness to their genius. Sometimes because the conflict is so tight, the battle so heated, the fog of war so thick, I need a second mate or possibly a guide to tell me how to get through it. It is not complaining. It is pleading, it is longing for guidance and reassurance. It is questioning.
Much like we all feel original in high school, are sure no one but we have gone through the woes of heartbreak or heartache, the alienation of finding one's own way, or the wrenching panic and anxiety of not fitting in, parents often blanch at each new milestone or dilemma and shine at each new achievement or success, asserting that no one else could ever feel this proud, this hurt, this excited. It feels like the very first time, though it is not. The comfort and safety of other parents' experiences similar to my own or better, that prepare me for moments to come, give me peace. A pat on the back, a squeeze of the hand, a knowing glance can mean so much when one is in the thick of it.
In this, I call on community. This is family created from like souls in a like experience. Their love, their guidance, their support, without "I told you so's" and "buck up and get it together's"has strengthened me and made me a better mom and a better person. I am not a party of one, though mothering is often a very isolating experience for me, because I have held out my hand and others have taken it at just the right time.
(c) Copyright 2012. Repatriated Mama: Back to the Suburban Grind.
No comments:
Post a Comment