The Yardstick of Motherhood
I'm thinking today about the way we measure ourselves as mothers. I suppose we all have a set of mothers in our heads--the ideal one we think we should be; the bad one we strive not to be and maybe fear being. Maybe we were raised by a version of one of those archetypes, and are measuring ourselves against our memories and hopes. If we adopted our children, we may be measuring ourselves against the sorrow that brought our children to us--trying to be a good enough mother to make up for the child's loss of his first mother, and her loss of him. If our children are disabled, troubled, medically fragile, that's another measurement: can I mother away pain, illness, limitations? Can I make up for all the hurts of the world? Even those of us with supposedly-uncomplicated little ones, and supposedly-simple family relationships, have a thousand ways to fail to measure up. Breasts that don't make enough milk, minds that create anxiety instead of bliss, kids who will only eat bananas and crackers, kids who just don't feel like sleeping or doing their homework. Moms who stay at home with their kids are expected to raise their own food in the back yard and knit their own diaper covers and read edifying literature during naptime; moms who do office work are expected to be there for every school event and doctor's visit, and make a home-cooked meal every night.
The way I keep my sanity in the face of the Yardstick of Motherhood is to sometimes whimsically measure myself against a totally different ideal--the Yardstick of Old-Fashioned TV Fatherhood. Unlike real fatherhood, Old-Fashioned TV Fatherhood seems to involve not much more than showing up for dinner, talking to the kids about their minor problems with their paper route or half-hearted bullies, and then having my spouse tell me how great and wise I am. On the weekends, there is ball playing and lawn mowing, generally resulting in shenanigans. The Yardstick of Old-Fashioned TV Fatherhood is awesome! It's particularly well-aligned with my cooking skills, which are Mike-Brady like. I recommend this to every mother who ever feels bad about herself as a parent--just say, "would TV Pa Ingalls be able to do what I'm doing right now?" and unless your mothering style is all about splitting wood, you know that you measure up just fine, because that dude never did a goddamn thing, really, except talk pretty.
Or, better yet, put the yardstick away for a while. Because you measure up just fine, dear Mothers.
Happy Mothers Day.
[edited to clarify which Pa Ingalls I'm impugning]
The way I keep my sanity in the face of the Yardstick of Motherhood is to sometimes whimsically measure myself against a totally different ideal--the Yardstick of Old-Fashioned TV Fatherhood. Unlike real fatherhood, Old-Fashioned TV Fatherhood seems to involve not much more than showing up for dinner, talking to the kids about their minor problems with their paper route or half-hearted bullies, and then having my spouse tell me how great and wise I am. On the weekends, there is ball playing and lawn mowing, generally resulting in shenanigans. The Yardstick of Old-Fashioned TV Fatherhood is awesome! It's particularly well-aligned with my cooking skills, which are Mike-Brady like. I recommend this to every mother who ever feels bad about herself as a parent--just say, "would TV Pa Ingalls be able to do what I'm doing right now?" and unless your mothering style is all about splitting wood, you know that you measure up just fine, because that dude never did a goddamn thing, really, except talk pretty.
Or, better yet, put the yardstick away for a while. Because you measure up just fine, dear Mothers.
Happy Mothers Day.
[edited to clarify which Pa Ingalls I'm impugning]