I have for awhile avoided this topic, since it seems only identifiable to other mothers. But as we were all once children we must identify with all children and perhaps see ourselves as parents and teachers of all children.
When Luciano was born I felt great joy and the greatest fear I've ever known. I would not say this fear was rooted in how inadequate I would be as a mother, but a fear that made me want to put him back inside my stomach and let him live there forever, protected from the ugly world. Which at the time included cars, germs, negative energy, TV, pollution, capitalism, being policed, bad food, bad ideas and all the other anxieties we just eventually accept. Somehow these words do not completely describe how I felt, it was so much more, it was the moment he opened his eyes and perhaps he would want to ask me, why would you bring me into this world. This was my fear.
I assuage these fears with the belief that in order to better civilization, you must put a generation of conscientious thinkers into the world. That I will teach my children to be wise, sensitive, thoughtful, healers of negativity.
Time went on in the first days and he was perfectly content, no crying, no sleepless nights, no colic, nothing, just perfect bliss. I usually attribute this to the natural waterbirth, but perhaps it is just his disposition. And that is what I try to remember, he is already himself, born with the intuition to comprehend, sent through the stars with the collective memory of every sentient being that ever existed.
I tried to make everything perfect, everything clean, everything ideal, but this is impossible and as he has grown older I don't even hold those ideals any longer. Things manifest as they do and I can just help him not to hurt himself and sit back and enjoy.
It seems the older he gets the more relaxed I become in allowing myself a little frustration. For instance if he is tired, most of the time I can lay down with him while breastfeeding and he goes to sleep, but other times, I do this and then he cries, so I stand up and rock him while he still has the breast, and he closes his eyes and then I lay down WITH him and he cries, this is my frustration. I want to be painting, I need to clean house and take a shower and I'm all alone and he wants to do nothing but sleep and instead he cries. But I have learned to appreciate this, this time is fleeting and it forces me to be patient.
The thing that really surprised me, since I had no real expectations of Motherhood, is that the responsibility and the desire for the best would be so stressful and solitary. That the desire to stimulate and educate at every moment would be a job shared equally. But men are men and women, women. Like that Sean Connery film where he cures cancer with a fruit and calls in a female assistant to help him figure out how he did it, but in the meantime the rain forest where the fruit is native is being destroyed and they never duplicate the results and in discussion they find out that the woman was cleaning the ants off where as the man was just leaving them be. Like dirt on the floor doesn't really seem to be an inhibitor of letting the baby crawl on the floor and then putting his fingers in his mouth.
But all must be forgiven and overlooked or at least compensated for and this is what makes a good mother. The ability to maintain a balance between man, woman, family, and individual needs. And this ability always comes at the cost of the mothers individuality, her desires always sacrificed and done so without spite or resentment. And in return she has their love.
This is all in the context of a stay at home Mom without any help or maid, with which I think the experience would be completely stress free. Just someone to do the things that need to be done instead of trying to do them and only halfway doing a good job and not to mention injuring yourself in the action because you are holding baby on one hip and washing dishes with one hand and cooking while someone knocks on the door and you have to go to the bathroom. But that is the comedy of it all. Except in it, I'm not laughing.
It is all out weighed by a simple smile and cuddle. Giggling little voice and sweet gestures.
