I have an absurd sense of accomplishment every time Moose is weighed and measured at the doctor. He is 80th percentile in height and my chest swells with pride as if I am the sole reason he is tall. I am not. I am not even a contributing factor as to why he is tall. I am not tall. His father is not tall. We are average, at best. And yet, I feel a massive sense of achievement every time a person comments on his exceptional height, as if I did something extraordinary to ensure he is vertically blessed.
I did not cherry pick his genes. I do not possess some genius that has created a super secret formula which gives him added height. I merely gave him a semi hospitable womb to begin his growth and I currently supply the plethora of foods he shovels into his mouth daily. I have absolutely no reason for my soul to alight with pride at the mention of his elevation. Motherhood is weird.
I can’t speak for all mothers, even less all parents- however, I feel rather confident to venture an assumption that most mothers feel this way- as much pride as I feel in regards to Moose’s growth and general person, I experience equal amounts of the adverse. The guilt and the responsibility I take on for my child’s… well, everything… can be suffocating.
As mothers, we tend to intermingle our worth with our children’s behaviors. The more people compliment how well behaved or smart they are, our being fills with satisfaction. Pride. Accomplishment. The warm feeling that we are doing the right things- that we are a good mother. Conversely, when we receive the dreaded call from a teacher that our child’s conduct has been less then stellar, the self flagellation abounds. This correlation is disconnected at best, hazardous at worst. We forget that we are merely stewards of these tiny humans for a time- hopefully equipping them with the tools to be good humans, prepared to thrive on their own one day.
Moose and I are surrounded by individuals that love us both unconditionally. This is a blessing, to say the least. Within that cocoon of comfort, I am guilty of taking their supportive words for granted. The ones that attempt to penetrate the soul crushing dread at the possibility of a negative parent teacher conference. Concern that I am somehow obstructing Moose’s success merely from ignorance or an inability to parent properly. The ones that echo that I am a good mother and he is marvelous. I hate to admit it, but there are times that the voice of a stranger can quiet the cacophony of doubt that swirls in my mind. Several weeks ago, I got just that.
We have a pretty solid routine in the mornings. We groggily stumble through the house to get dressed, pack snacks, grab bookbags and gym bags, and shuffle out the door. The summer isn’t much different, excluding the venue change for the child. Instead of his amazing elementary school, he attends “science camp”. Call it daycare and you’ll receive a scathing correction from the monster. The alteration to the morning ballet, not accounting for the modification in setting, is that it is not a succinct drop off from the car condition. Science camp requires several door codes, a set of stairs, and classroom location- one which is lead by a lovely soul whom I had the pleasure to chat with daily over the summer. Our morning conversations were born of my inability to disengage myself from my progeny. I hate leaving him. So I linger, ensure that he is settled before I slip back through the door and down the stairs.
Our morning conversations ran the gambit. We discussed her doctorate program, my company, the weather, television shows, and a billion things in between. I learned that she has been teaching young children for twenty years, feeding her passion for education. She juggles single motherhood, a job, and her continuing education. All with a laugh that lies behind her eyes, eager to be released. To no surprise, Moose imprinted on her, declaring her his best friend, requiring she sit next to him on field trips. I must say, as the weeks passed, I imprinted on her too.
I wonder if she sensed the gnawing self judgement in the pit of my stomach. The guilt building within me. Or if she merely wanted to share her own pride in my tiny human. No matter, her timing was impeccable.
For the past few months, the Monster hasn’t been consistently sleeping through the night. To complicate matters, he is disinclined to rest unaccompanied. Upon awakening, he attempts to crawl into our bed. One which is not large enough to accommodate three humans. I redirect him to his bed, where he craves company. This can happen multiple times a night, causing a rousing game of musical beds for me. Mama is tired. And riddled with shame. I worry I have done something to break his ability to sleep through the night. That I somehow undermined his feeling of safety, causing him to fear being alone.
It was this torrent of insecurity I carried within me as I entered the classroom, greeted by the woman which was the highlight of many mornings. We chatted about various things before I scoped the child into my embrace, launching into our daily affirmation. The teachers assistant joyfully told me how much she loves our little ritual. Our favorite concurred, bolstering that she waited for it every day. This must have provoked a memory, as she looked to the assistant with excitement and asked if she knew of another student, C. It seems C had no interest in playing with the summer camp attendees. His sister was all he needed, much to her chagrin. Sister was frustrated at her limitations of activities placed upon her by C. It seems another student observed this struggle, and asked of the teachers how to play with C. The sister informed them that one must learn to talk in his cadence. As it turns out, Moose was listening to the exchange. He quickly adapted and engaged C in conversation. A new pairing was born. The two boys palled around, their imaginations alight. C’s sister gleefully extricated herself to find new pastures. Our new bestie, the favorite camp teacher, was beaming with pride. Moose had connected with C in a way no one else had been able to.
There are a lot of things I do not feel I can take credit for as his mother. He is fascinating and funny. His curiosity and empathy are depthless. The way he views the world is thoughtful and creative. These are traits I did not get to choose, they are merely the incredible human he is. As I didn’t get to select the genes which contributed to his physical form, I didn’t get to choose anything which makes up him as a person. But I can be exceptionally proud of him. For the human he has become and will continue to grow into. I can nurture those traits, encourage him any way I know how. I can also give myself a little credit. No, I didn’t get to hand select the DNA components that built him, but I have done my damndest to be an example. To show him all of me, the good and the bad. To extend empathy and patience to him when the days get difficult. Show appreciation for when he does the same for me. Demonstrate what it is to make a mistake and learn from it. Apologize genuinely and without hesitation.
I am not a perfect human, nor am I a perfect mother. No one is. No kid is. He will have days that he stumbles in his education. Days that his emotional regulator is on the fritz and he can’t seem to pull himself together. Nights his sleep is garbage. But he is always the one with a heart that is three sizes too big. The sensitive one. The kind one.
Mommyhood Mayhem and Me 