When I wrote my post on help, I had a second topic I wanted to address. As it happens, I wrote about a number of things in between, but I haven’t forgotten
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I had similar experiences when I had my daughter, and the sleeplessness threw me so far out of whack that I went into post-partum depression. I joined a mothers' support group, only to discover that I was the only one who seemed to be having any problems with her baby. At our final session, one woman sought me out to thank me. Her little boy was colicky, and she hadn't felt like speaking up, but she was comforted by my confessions. I'm glad I was able to help, but it wasn't exactly the experience I was seeking.
Now, 20 years later, I can easily understand that of course all these Type A Washington DC moms wouldn't want to confess that something wasn't going well.
And thank you for reading. This is kind of the first part of a discussion about where the concept of love as an act of endurance comes from. I think it’s necessary when dealing with children.
But I think it’s vastly less positive when dealing with adult relationships.
I want to have children. I'm actively trying to have children. And I admit that, on reading all of this--which is about love, and the happy ending--my visceral reaction is "Oh hell, I don't ever want to do that." I worry that I'm too selfish to be any good at being a parent, especially if there's not the warm fuzzy overriding sense of Perfect Parenthood that Hallmark wants me to believe exists.
I am not good at endurance, and I don't know that I could do that. And having a kid doesn't have an easy back-out option. There is no point at two months in where you can go "On second thought, this isn't working out. How about a goat instead?" Thinking about this kind of commitment, and the way someone else gets to define my life for years and years, terrifies me. Which makes me feel like a bad person.
But it's probably for the best that I think about this beforehand, and not afterward.
Thinking about this kind of commitment, and the way someone else gets to define my life for years and years, terrifies me. Which makes me feel like a bad person.
I don’t think you should in any way feel like a bad person for this. If anyone other than a baby took over and controlled almost every aspect of your life, people would be concerned; they would tell you upfront that this wasn’t healthy.
Children are a source of joy - but there’s a lot of mundane, tired work interspersed with those moments - and I think if people were more honest about this one of two things would happen:
1. No one would ever have children. This would obviously not be the best thing for the shape of our society as it stands.
2. People would have more realistic expectations and a better sense of how to define boundaries of their lives in a way that allowed them to fulfill their needs as a person without losing sight of their role as a parent.
Reasonable and realistic expectations are certainly wise. I suspect a lot of my frustration is with how gendered it is. I'm sure having an infant is rough on both parents, but if I acquire one, I will be the one who's parenting 24/7, while the spouse is not, for basic financial reasons. And...dammit. I want to be a father. I want to be a parent who comes home and gives someone else some time off, and gets to be the Good Parent who dispenses treats and fun, while someone else does the constant slog.
But that's not likely to happen. Nor is a perfectly equitable division of labor. I want to be a parent; I just don't want to be a mother.
OH, my goodness. Thank you *so* much for posting this. My first child - my daughter - was born the winter our farm faced economic ruin. My husband and I were young and had been married less than two years. Although we knew we wanted children, she was a bit of a surprise. It didn't help that everyone in his family told us we were too young to be parents (I was 22). I spent most of that winter alone, overwhelmed, and completely unprepared for the emotional turmoil. I was exhausted, stressed, and deeply, profoundly afraid that I was going to be a colossal failure as a mother. But I couldn't verbalize any of my doubts or worries - because I was a *mom.* I was supposed to be filled with bliss at the sight of my darling baby's toothless gums. I was supposed to be some serene madonna gently rocking her placid infant, not a wild-haired woman trying not to cry as her baby fusses at oh-dark-thirty in the morning. And even if I could have told anyone how I felt, everyone else was busy with more important concerns
( ... )
It took me a long, long, long time to realize that what I felt was probably normal. It took longer yet for me to feel that I was doing okay as a mother.
I think the truth is we always feel like we’re not quite doing enough. We’re not quite doing okay. Because our children our enormously important and if we do a bad job, they bear that burden forever.
I actually think this is normal. But people have different ways of coping with that fear; sometimes people drown it in metrics. Sometimes they drown it in really weird pissing contests.
And children always change because they have to - they’re growing up. It means we can’t even had rules that work and rules that don’t; we can’t be rigid and deterministic because there’s such a balance between being realistic and breaking spirit. So, yes, I consider it a much harder job than writing a novel. Or even several.
I think this sense of 'I'm not quite doing enough' is universal. I'm pretty unlike most mothers (my daughter laughs hysterically when I say this, and says 'understatement of the year') and I always discount the things I do well (though I am never going to buy my kids ferrofluid *again*) and fret hugely about the things I do badly.
Wow. This strengthens and renews my decision never to have children. I can't deal with lack of sleep. I either sleep or have a nervous breakdown.
I'm surprised there aren't more incidents of moms either suiciding or abusing given the depression rate in this country. But I do have a sense in the abstract that other people do lack of sleep better than I do. The trouble is that they don't do it *as well as they think they do*.
(I don't want this to come across as a criticism of you! Just sort of my horror at the idea of being in that predicament. And of course the slight unease that I am closer to people I've seen who abuse/neglect than I usually think.)
New moms have lots of nervous breakdowns. :-) Biology helps them sleepwalk to do what's required, sometimes. Sometimes coparents help. But there's still moments of sitting next to a sobbing baby sobbing yourself. Then life goes on.
I'm surprised there aren't more incidents of moms either suiciding or abusing given the depression rate in this country. But I do have a sense in the abstract that other people do lack of sleep better than I do. The trouble is that they don't do it *as well as they think they do*.
Look up Infanticide. Actually, seriously - the first time I looked it up I was really surprised; it’s a very, very light sentence given to parents of children from birth to age 18 months (or it was when I looked in Canada) and it applies to mothers. It’s an old law, so I think the insanity by sleep deprivation and postpartum hormones was known, understood, considered both a crime - and a tragedy.
I feel deeply fortunate that many, many of my friends have written posts like this at various times, and talked honestly about the stresses and difficulties of being parents. One of my partners wants to have a child in a couple of years, and I feel like we're going into that situation really well-informed.
I'm also really glad there are three of us to help with child-raising, and that we're all old hands at dealing with chronic insomnia, jetlag, and delayed sleep phase syndrome, and at knowing when we're being irrational because we're sleep-deprived. I'm actually rather looking forward to the "boot camp" nature of parenthood in hopes that it will help all our bodies learn how to sleep whenever sleeping is possible, the way soldiers and doctors do.
I truly have no idea how people raise children with a less than 3:2 adult:child ratio.
Comments 43
Thank you so much for posting this.
I had similar experiences when I had my daughter, and the sleeplessness threw me so far out of whack that I went into post-partum depression. I joined a mothers' support group, only to discover that I was the only one who seemed to be having any problems with her baby. At our final session, one woman sought me out to thank me. Her little boy was colicky, and she hadn't felt like speaking up, but she was comforted by my confessions. I'm glad I was able to help, but it wasn't exactly the experience I was seeking.
Now, 20 years later, I can easily understand that of course all these Type A Washington DC moms wouldn't want to confess that something wasn't going well.
Reply
And thank you for reading. This is kind of the first part of a discussion about where the concept of love as an act of endurance comes from. I think it’s necessary when dealing with children.
But I think it’s vastly less positive when dealing with adult relationships.
Reply
I want to have children. I'm actively trying to have children. And I admit that, on reading all of this--which is about love, and the happy ending--my visceral reaction is "Oh hell, I don't ever want to do that." I worry that I'm too selfish to be any good at being a parent, especially if there's not the warm fuzzy overriding sense of Perfect Parenthood that Hallmark wants me to believe exists.
I am not good at endurance, and I don't know that I could do that. And having a kid doesn't have an easy back-out option. There is no point at two months in where you can go "On second thought, this isn't working out. How about a goat instead?" Thinking about this kind of commitment, and the way someone else gets to define my life for years and years, terrifies me. Which makes me feel like a bad person.
But it's probably for the best that I think about this beforehand, and not afterward.
Reply
I don’t think you should in any way feel like a bad person for this. If anyone other than a baby took over and controlled almost every aspect of your life, people would be concerned; they would tell you upfront that this wasn’t healthy.
Children are a source of joy - but there’s a lot of mundane, tired work interspersed with those moments - and I think if people were more honest about this one of two things would happen:
1. No one would ever have children. This would obviously not be the best thing for the shape of our society as it stands.
2. People would have more realistic expectations and a better sense of how to define boundaries of their lives in a way that allowed them to fulfill their needs as a person without losing sight of their role as a parent.
Reply
But that's not likely to happen. Nor is a perfectly equitable division of labor. I want to be a parent; I just don't want to be a mother.
Reply
Reply
Reply
I think the truth is we always feel like we’re not quite doing enough. We’re not quite doing okay. Because our children our enormously important and if we do a bad job, they bear that burden forever.
I actually think this is normal. But people have different ways of coping with that fear; sometimes people drown it in metrics. Sometimes they drown it in really weird pissing contests.
And children always change because they have to - they’re growing up. It means we can’t even had rules that work and rules that don’t; we can’t be rigid and deterministic because there’s such a balance between being realistic and breaking spirit. So, yes, I consider it a much harder job than writing a novel. Or even several.
Reply
Reply
I'm surprised there aren't more incidents of moms either suiciding or abusing given the depression rate in this country. But I do have a sense in the abstract that other people do lack of sleep better than I do. The trouble is that they don't do it *as well as they think they do*.
(I don't want this to come across as a criticism of you! Just sort of my horror at the idea of being in that predicament. And of course the slight unease that I am closer to people I've seen who abuse/neglect than I usually think.)
Reply
Reply
Look up Infanticide. Actually, seriously - the first time I looked it up I was really surprised; it’s a very, very light sentence given to parents of children from birth to age 18 months (or it was when I looked in Canada) and it applies to mothers. It’s an old law, so I think the insanity by sleep deprivation and postpartum hormones was known, understood, considered both a crime - and a tragedy.
Reply
I'm also really glad there are three of us to help with child-raising, and that we're all old hands at dealing with chronic insomnia, jetlag, and delayed sleep phase syndrome, and at knowing when we're being irrational because we're sleep-deprived. I'm actually rather looking forward to the "boot camp" nature of parenthood in hopes that it will help all our bodies learn how to sleep whenever sleeping is possible, the way soldiers and doctors do.
I truly have no idea how people raise children with a less than 3:2 adult:child ratio.
Reply
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