Reflections on Life: Parenthood
I never saw myself as a mother. I mean, my sisters obviously did. Fuckin' hell, Meghan says that she knew it was what she born to be, which is disturbing since the thought of Meghan spawning is frightening enough. (She's going to be pregnant in the next year, mark my words.) And Alison is a wonderful mother to two amazing boys.
It doesn't take an Einstein to figure out why I wouldn't see myself as a mother figure. I mean, really? I didn't exactly have any kind of idol growing up to show me that motherhood is anything less than a burden and disgusting waste and that you just end up despising and hurting your children for ruining your life. That was my mother made me understand what being a parent was: gross, miserable, and life-ruining. How disturbing is that?
The only times that I saw different was after Henry was born and despite the tantrums and the messes and the desperate nights that Ali (as any parent would) needed to get out and therefore was glad to see me...she was happy. She wanted nothing more than to have Henry (and then Will) in her life. I babysat a handful of times on school vacations and stuff, and I began to get use to hanging around kids, especially small ones which I always felt awkward around, and then Will was born and I graduated. After the summer from Hell ended and I came home to stick my head in the sand for a couple months, my sisters pushed me to get out of the house, and I came to Queens almost every week and had my Fridays with Henry, going to movies or going on walks or playing Dragons and Knights in the apartment. Fridays turned to weekend visits. Weekend visits turned to week long stays. Before I knew it, I was becoming a comfortable city girl spending more time with the little ones and full on ENJOYING it. Not doing it just for Ali's sanity. Not doing it simple to get myself out of the house so I wouldn't off myself. It was fun, and I got along great with them.
Today is my last day in Queens. I've spent almost a whole week here now, job searching and going to the Swell Season concert and, most essentially, babysitting a ton. And today (being Friday) was Henry's and my day. It was so beautiful out I met him at pre-school and took him to Central Park for a couple hours, we ran around for a long time, climbed on big rocks, told fairy tales, and rode the park carousel about a bajillion times. I carried him to the train station and he slept almsot the entire way home. When we got in the poor little guy had an upset stomach and had an accident. The mild disaster could have been severely worse and I thank any and all higher deities that I have a strong stomach. By some unknown power, not only did I get him to stop crying hysterically, I washed him up, got him changed, made him giggle and get a nap without a blink of an eye. I cleaned up the bathroom, sat down on the couch and thought about being a mom and what it means.
True, it demands sacrifice. It can be disgusting and frustrating and frightening and hard. But it's also so many more things that make it worth while. If it was any other child, any other time, I wouldn't have been able to handle all that stuff. But it was Henry, and he was scared and embarrassed and all that mattered was helping him get better. It made me think that I might not be as bad a mother as I always thought I'd be.
Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm going to get knocked-up the first chance I get, but one day--someday--it's not an impossibility, you know? *shrugs* In the meantime I'm TOTALLY cool with just being a kick-ass auntie.
Ahh, Henry's just woken up. Looks like it's officially time for Goldfish and Toy Story 2. :-)
It doesn't take an Einstein to figure out why I wouldn't see myself as a mother figure. I mean, really? I didn't exactly have any kind of idol growing up to show me that motherhood is anything less than a burden and disgusting waste and that you just end up despising and hurting your children for ruining your life. That was my mother made me understand what being a parent was: gross, miserable, and life-ruining. How disturbing is that?
The only times that I saw different was after Henry was born and despite the tantrums and the messes and the desperate nights that Ali (as any parent would) needed to get out and therefore was glad to see me...she was happy. She wanted nothing more than to have Henry (and then Will) in her life. I babysat a handful of times on school vacations and stuff, and I began to get use to hanging around kids, especially small ones which I always felt awkward around, and then Will was born and I graduated. After the summer from Hell ended and I came home to stick my head in the sand for a couple months, my sisters pushed me to get out of the house, and I came to Queens almost every week and had my Fridays with Henry, going to movies or going on walks or playing Dragons and Knights in the apartment. Fridays turned to weekend visits. Weekend visits turned to week long stays. Before I knew it, I was becoming a comfortable city girl spending more time with the little ones and full on ENJOYING it. Not doing it just for Ali's sanity. Not doing it simple to get myself out of the house so I wouldn't off myself. It was fun, and I got along great with them.
Today is my last day in Queens. I've spent almost a whole week here now, job searching and going to the Swell Season concert and, most essentially, babysitting a ton. And today (being Friday) was Henry's and my day. It was so beautiful out I met him at pre-school and took him to Central Park for a couple hours, we ran around for a long time, climbed on big rocks, told fairy tales, and rode the park carousel about a bajillion times. I carried him to the train station and he slept almsot the entire way home. When we got in the poor little guy had an upset stomach and had an accident. The mild disaster could have been severely worse and I thank any and all higher deities that I have a strong stomach. By some unknown power, not only did I get him to stop crying hysterically, I washed him up, got him changed, made him giggle and get a nap without a blink of an eye. I cleaned up the bathroom, sat down on the couch and thought about being a mom and what it means.
True, it demands sacrifice. It can be disgusting and frustrating and frightening and hard. But it's also so many more things that make it worth while. If it was any other child, any other time, I wouldn't have been able to handle all that stuff. But it was Henry, and he was scared and embarrassed and all that mattered was helping him get better. It made me think that I might not be as bad a mother as I always thought I'd be.
Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm going to get knocked-up the first chance I get, but one day--someday--it's not an impossibility, you know? *shrugs* In the meantime I'm TOTALLY cool with just being a kick-ass auntie.
Ahh, Henry's just woken up. Looks like it's officially time for Goldfish and Toy Story 2. :-)