Martyrs, Mothers, Mutterers.
I wince when Fain whines for my mother while I'm trying to snuggle him in my own arms. I admit it. Nothing is more painful than realizing you didn't get your full five years of top-billing on your own kid's matinee sign. I had nearly two solid years as the hot show in town, but now I'm Bette Davis in a Marilyn Monroe movie. Cest la vie. What're you going to do?
On the other hand, it's always been my nature to find the positive, and the positive is relatively clear here. He's in good hands, and I have a measure of independence not granted many single mothers. I could take a month-long trip to the moon, and he's never notice I was gone. So I may as well enjoy the trip.
Here's what I can't stand and what I don't want to become: a martyr mother or a mutterer mother. I don't want to be one of those mothers who resents everything that her kid does if it doesn't revolve around her. I don't want to do a bunch of stuff that my kid doesn't ask me to do and then talk about all the sacrifices I made to do them. I don't want to mutter on and on under my breath or to anyone who'll listen about how my kid doesn't appreciate me despite all that I've done. I just want him to be happy. And I don't mean that I just want him to be happy so long as what makes him happy also makes me happy. I can't stand it when people say that. I want him to be happy even if I think he's a nut for doing whatever it is that he does.
I think that all mothers are at risk of becoming martyrs or mutterers. It goes with the territory. You love this person so much. You suffer to bring him into the world. You sacrifice sleep and food and energy and braincells to keep him alive and happy. Then one day he gets tired of you and that's that. It's enough to make anyone mumble incoherently about belated birthday cards while rocking arhythmically in a corner. But what I've realized after some serious rocking and mumbling this week is that a kid is never going to love his mother the way that his mother loves him. It's just not possible. And really it's not important. It doesn't matter how much my kid loves me, all that matters is how much I love him.
On the other hand, it's always been my nature to find the positive, and the positive is relatively clear here. He's in good hands, and I have a measure of independence not granted many single mothers. I could take a month-long trip to the moon, and he's never notice I was gone. So I may as well enjoy the trip.
Here's what I can't stand and what I don't want to become: a martyr mother or a mutterer mother. I don't want to be one of those mothers who resents everything that her kid does if it doesn't revolve around her. I don't want to do a bunch of stuff that my kid doesn't ask me to do and then talk about all the sacrifices I made to do them. I don't want to mutter on and on under my breath or to anyone who'll listen about how my kid doesn't appreciate me despite all that I've done. I just want him to be happy. And I don't mean that I just want him to be happy so long as what makes him happy also makes me happy. I can't stand it when people say that. I want him to be happy even if I think he's a nut for doing whatever it is that he does.
I think that all mothers are at risk of becoming martyrs or mutterers. It goes with the territory. You love this person so much. You suffer to bring him into the world. You sacrifice sleep and food and energy and braincells to keep him alive and happy. Then one day he gets tired of you and that's that. It's enough to make anyone mumble incoherently about belated birthday cards while rocking arhythmically in a corner. But what I've realized after some serious rocking and mumbling this week is that a kid is never going to love his mother the way that his mother loves him. It's just not possible. And really it's not important. It doesn't matter how much my kid loves me, all that matters is how much I love him.
posted by Autumn at 8:05 PM
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