I ponder often these days what kind of mother I will be to my children. Scares the crap out of me. I'm not the most nurturing, I am horribly impatient, and I am extremely sensitive to sounds, smell, and all things potentially repetitive and annoying. Shitting, crying, whining, fussing, needy babies...ANYONE? And the thought of something needing to suck milk out of my nipple (like (such as) multiple times a DAY) kind of freaks me out. Sounds about as enjoyable as having blood drawn. Can you nurse AND take xanex?
I know this is nothing unique to me and my life...but it still feels huge. I sometimes wish that I could access live moments from my childhood for review. So that I could understand with more clarity - my sensitivities - and ultimately how I arrived from 'there' to 'here'. Because the older I get the less certain I am of how it actually was. I wonder if I haven't just relied on theories along the way that offered some mental recess when I've needed to feel less responsible for the more unattractive, insecure qualities in the woman I have become. The obtrusive ones. The ones that burden your relationships with the people you love the most. The ones that hurt, that don't reason, that make you feel like Mt. Everest stands between you and having grace and compassion.
I believe everything we think we know about parenting, and the choices we make that feel important to us - starts with our own childhood. It seems the most relevant point of reference - when we have none of our own. What we liked. What we didn't like. What hurt. What we missed. What felt 'unfair'. What we felt we needed or wanted. What we admired about our parents, and what embarrassed us. Mainly, what parts of us evolved from nurture and not nature.
We fear becoming the worst parts of our mothers and fathers - predisposed for their vices, their attitudes, their inadequacies. We fear the potential we have to over-compensate for all those things by injecting too much of our own egos into our children's development. That no matter how hard we try to sort and separate and compartmentalize all those things in an attempt to at the very least be a little more intentional in our behavior as 'friend', 'teacher', 'sister', 'mother', 'whatever'...we will fuck it up somehow.
I love knowing, however, that I might have the chance to try. That I will probably fuck it up, but that maybe I can fuck it up one year of therapy less. To a degree, I imagine I will be winging it as I have always done. And the rest - will reveal itself through careful and deliberate discussion of how our family - progresses towards whatever it is we have agreed to value most. I suppose thats what everyone does. It just feels so special, and complicated and scary when you are doing it for the first time - and when you know that while it can be the most rewarding and gratifying of human experiences, it is certain to be the most challenging.
Here's to hoping I'm up for it!
No. I'm not pregnant.
Recent Comments