Mom should be there, mom should feed, dress, put to bed, mom should … But should she? Clinical psychologist Inga Green talks about her experience of motherhood at a young and mature age.
My sons are 17 years apart in age. I am 38 years old, the youngest child is 4 months old. This is adult motherhood, and every day I unwittingly compare myself now and then.
Then I had to be in time everywhere and not lose face. Get married and have a baby soon. Having given birth, you can’t really babysit him, because you need to finish your studies. At the university, I strain my short memory from lack of sleep, and at home my relatives are on duty with my son in three shifts. You need to be a good mother, student, wife and hostess.
The diploma is rapidly turning blue, all the time ashamed. I remember how I washed all the pans in my mother-in-law’s house in a day so that she could see how clean I am. I don’t remember what my son was like at that time, but I remember these pans in detail. Get to bed as soon as possible in order to complete the diploma. Quickly switch to normal food to go to work. At night, she nods to the rhythmic buzz of a breast pump to keep breastfeeding. I tried very hard and suffered from shame that I was not enough, because everyone says that motherhood is happiness, and my motherhood is a stopwatch.
Now I understand that I have fallen into the grip of conflicting demands on mothers and women in general. In our culture, they (us, me) are required to experience happiness from self-sacrifice. To do the impossible, to serve everyone around, to be always nice. Always. Horse huts.
The truth is that it is impossible to feel good in a routine feat, you have to simulate. Pretend so that invisible critics don’t know anything. Over the years I have come to realize this. If I could send a letter to my twenty-year-old self, it would say: “No one will die if you start taking care of yourself. Every time you run to wash and rub, take off the «majority» in a white coat from your neck. You don’t owe it anything, it’s imaginary.»
Being an adult mom means not rushing anywhere and not reporting to anyone. Take the baby in your arms and admire. Together with her husband, sing songs to him, fool around. Come up with different gentle and funny nicknames. On walks, talk with a stroller under the eyes of passers-by. Instead of disappointment, experience great sympathy and gratitude for the child for the work he does.
Being a baby is not easy, and now I have enough experience to understand this. I’m with him, and he doesn’t owe me anything. It turns out just to love. And along with patience and understanding of infant needs, more recognition and respect for my eldest son comes to me. He is not to blame for how hard it was for me with him. I am writing this text, and next to me, my youngest son is breathing measuredly in a dream. I did everything.