After nearly two years, you’re not a brand new mother anymore. You’ve reached that stage when you can brush off scabs on the knees or not overthink the swallowed bathwater. But there’s a whole world you’re still adapting to — suddenly, you’re that person in the restaurant who has a child wanting to test gravity on the spoon while the couple at the next table are trying to have a cozy date. You are the person who needs several months’ notice for a wedding in another city. You are the person who cannot attend a Zoom event or even a simple phone call in the sacred 7 to 9 PM bedtime routine (Yes, it gets that long). You are the person that uses social media to share amusing things your child did rather than photos of unplanned hikes in beautiful locales.
Your ego and sense of self are still fragile, and it’s easier than ever to feel judged and mocked. Sometimes, you feel like that person your single or child-free friends secretly pity for all the new commitments and lifestyle changes. A short message or comment that may perhaps not be badly intentioned can trigger all sorts of emotions — anger, guilt, frustration and irritation that people don’t ‘get’ it.
Motherhood (and parenthood) is after all an all-consuming identity, even when you you are trying to balance with all your identities. A mother, a colleague, a friend, a spouse or partner. What are the books you adore, what are the movies that you escape into, what food you are craving to eat. What you think of the nature of public transport and architectural trends in your city, what colour you want to paint the walls of your dream house.
You may be excited to take a break and watch a movie with your partner at home leaving the baby at your parents. But something in the movie may remind you of what the little kid did and your conversation goes there. Or, you may actually enjoy it and later worry that you never checked on the baby. You may have a long day at work and feel satisfied at the end of the day, or guilty that you had such a long day away from home.
I am not away at work every day, and most days I am at walking distance from my mother’s house where D is. Some days, I am so involved in my work that I may not text to ask my mother if she has started her nap, or if she ate her meal, or what she is up to. I look at a photo sent to me, smile, and return to doing what I had to finish. Other days, I may look at the picture for longer, wonder what she is doing, and call to ask more details. Heck, I may even video call from 200 metres away. I am still learning to navigate all these parts of my life.
Sometimes I am guilty that I don’t even know what her evening snack of the day was. Other days, I am so consumed with work that I don’t have time to feel guilty. Weekends where I am involved in every activity are fulfilling and tiring. Most days, I am simply grateful that I have the support to continue to work and have interests outside being a mother.
Sometimes, I talk a lot about D, and sometimes I don’t. Some days, I like to tell people details on D’s amazing (to us) verbal prowess, share pictures of her new haircut, discuss new parenting trends. I may get irritated when a friend doesn’t seem to remember my child’s name or doesn’t think to ask how I am doing in this new life role. Other days, I wonder if I am expecting too much. Some days, I discuss Netflix recommendations, book reviews, workplace issues, gossip or offer unsolicited advice on friends’ love lives.
Isn’t it how all our lives are? A balance of different roles we play, at home, at work, with friends, with family.
But there’s something about motherhood that can make you feel judged, guilty and pressured when you try to balance it all, with the social media and information overload making it all even more overwhelming. Is this person ignoring their promising career for the baby? Is that other person so busy at work that aren’t able to select for their baby the ideal developmental toys? Is that other person boring everyone on social media with anecdotes about their child? All of us may be all of these people.
And so what? I wish we could all scroll on, stride on and move on, and be confident that it’s not our job to meet anybody’s standards, whether it is our grandmothers, neighbours or old classmates on social media.
But it’s not easy to shake off the pressure that comes even when nobody is forcing you. One mother may be giving their child incredible nature experiences every day. Another could be cooking nutritious and exciting meals, while also modelling brands of bibs and cutlery to make some money. Another is continuing to make strides in a fulfilling career as a musician.
I keep telling myself and others every day, do what you can, take what you can manage, don’t stress about the rest. There are days it works, and there are days it doesn’t.
I wake up at 630 AM latest most days. The precocious smiles and amusing speech mostly make up for it. Thanks to an earlybird husband, I can laze around at least until my morning coffee while the diaper and milk duties are handled, and I am grateful for it. Other days, I may be jealous of not being able to wake up at 9AM, skip breakfast, and not want to look at the mess under the dining table after every single breakfast that is the result of our attempts at a (partially) self-feeding child.
Some days I am happy with what we’ve managed and how far we’ve come. We have a child who likes plain unsweetened milk and idlis, adores books, and is a people person. Other days, I see (or I think) people doing so much better, so much more confident, hands-on, better equipped to handle it all, while I lose my temper, don’t have the energy for a park visit, or can’t seem to make our toddler understand that the cellphone is not for her.
It’s a constant battle between all these personas which are all you — who you were, who you are, who you will be. The battle is probably going to continue till the child’s adulthood and our own old age.
I recently read Richard Osman’s The Man Who Died Twice — about a group of elderly sleuths in a retirement community in Kent, and the thing that really struck me was how even at 70, their lives were far from over. They were vulnerable, weak, yet strong. They had various personas, interests, passions, quirks. Being a parent and a grandparent was but one identity. Perhaps we will reach that stage too.
Until then, one day at a time it is.
