In honor of this upcoming Day of Life, as I like to call it, I have decided to post a piece I had written last year, because I just don’t think I’ll ever be able to top it. Enjoy….
Being a Mom is SUPER FUCKING HARD.
Oops, I mean… spoiler alert. Being a Mom is literally THE most difficult job on the planet. I can say that, because I’v e worked at every job on the planet. No, that isn’t true, and of course I don’t care what job you think is more difficult, I still stand by the original statement. This job is taxing on every single part of your existence. There is nothing else.
But for shits and giggles, let’s think about a difficult job: underwater welding. Sure, getting fried in the water sounds cool, but not when there aren’t drugs involved, and we’re talking about a life-ending shot of electricity to the body. That never sounds cool. So, you’re an underwater welder, and that’s a tough day, I can admit, which is why I chose it for this example. I’m just warming you up, see. So I can yoink the proverbial carpet out from under proverbial you. Underwater welding is dangerous, and I would never want to wake up in the morning to the knowledge that I had to report to underwater anything, much less for 10 hours of welding.
But picture this: life is good, you’re underwater welding, you have your underwater welding coworkers, and you’re all eating lunch, and it’s time to get back to work, but one of your coworkers barfs all over you! Like, everything they just ate, is now being pulled by gravity, down the front of your whole body, each piece of disgusting food searching for a place to crust onto. They even got some in your mouth. Then, another coworker gets diarrhea all over the place, before they can get to a bathroom, and it’s in their hair, and it’s just leaking out of every microscopic hole in the fabric of their clothing. And another coworker says he’s hungry, and doesn’t want anything he has in his lunchbox, even though he has all of his favorite foods that he liked as recently as yesterday. Oh, and another one has taken all of his clothes off, and is trying to stick a piece of his apple in his butt. All of them are looking to you for solutions, NOW. They’re touching you. They’re whining at you, in stereo, like some hellish choir. And don’t even think about taking a nap! There are bodily fluids in the form of toxic sludge, just waiting to be cleaned up. Cleaned up by you. You could ask another coworker for help, because you have one available, but he has his own job to do, so you probably have to handle this one yourself.
All of this, of course, comes after the First Day of Work, where you have to find a way to push something large through an impossibly small opening, while somebody rips your very soul out of you, without giving up, without asking for anything, without killing someone. Congratulations, you’ve made it through the first day! Here comes the diarrhea….
Now, don’t get me wrong: I know there are men who do all of these things (other than the First Day part) every day, and they’re fucking spectacular at it. There are men I know, who are better parents to their children than the Mother is. There are men I know, who do all of the parenting. I am speaking in a generalization of our society, which is the only one I can speak from with accuracy. This piece aims to highlight the things Mothers are typically expected to handle, regardless of the number of parents in the household. When baby shits himself, it automatically prompts the person holding the baby to exclaim “Oh boy, someone has a present for Mommy!” Huh?! Why the fuck is it for Mommy? What if they were so inspired by your face, that they shit their pants and gave it to YOU as a present? That shit is your gift, and you’re trying to re-gift to Mom because you assume that that is the process of things. Why should someone who has probably changed a few diapers in their life be expected to change a shitty diaper? No, that’s Mom’s job, here you go.
That shit used to drive me insane! I will gladly change a friend’s baby without even blinking an eye, because THE BABY NEEDS TO BE CHANGED. If you were bedridden for some unfortunate reason, and weren’t able to use the toilet, would you expect a hospice worker to come over and say “Oh gross! Someone else…. I am NOT doing this!” No, you’re lying if you think that would feel ok to you. The diaper needs to be freshened, it doesn’t matter who is doing it. I’m sure the baby has no preference.
Same thing with puking. When a friend’s baby pukes on me, it doesn’t occur to me to be grossed out or flinch. I will take care of the baby, and then clean up myself afterward. The baby is helpless for their own care. Ridiculing it for puking is not necessary, I can assure you. Change the damn baby and stop whining about how gross they are. You’re gross.
So, Mom is expected to keep everyone clean of bodily fluids of all types, keep everyone fed, keep everyone’s clothes on, keep everything picked up, even though there are thugs following her around, fucking up her shit in her wake. Moms have to have everything in order, which if you didn’t know, is impossible to do when kids are involved. It’s barely possible with a grown man in the house, much less ANY number of tiny relentlessly wild humans who apparently aren’t aware of just how many strings they can pull at once. These things have to be done, and if by some miracle, someone sees your house on a clean day, I’m just kidding, that never happens. But if it did happen, like I said, by some miracle, then you get zero credit for everything that happened up until that point. It’s like in the movies, when the house is trashed, and the parents are coming home, so everyone is hauling ass to clean the house, and they get the last thing cleaned in the nick of time, and the parents think nothing has been going on. It’s status quo. All of your hard work and effort has gotten you to the point of looking like you haven’t done anything all day, because nothing is out, and nothing is going on.
And don’t even get me started on how much of a slap in the face it is, when someone comes home to the part where the thugs are fucking shit up behind the woman who has been frantically cleaning and trying to keep food and bodily fluids from being expelled (sometimes unnoticed, where it dries onto the surface, and you only realize it’s there when it starts to smell really really bad) all day long, and she hasn’t had a chance to brush her hair or eat a piece of toast, and the partner says, “You don’t even do anything but stay home and play with the kids.”
Jah, please help.
Being a Mom is difficult from day one, and for the rest of her life. Your Mom had to watch you make mistakes that tore her apart inside. She knew about things you didn’t know she knew. She didn’t approach you, because she wanted to see if you would do the right thing. Sometimes, you didn’t, and she loved you anyway. But when you did do the right thing, it was everything to her.
She had to watch you leave her home, which no Mom is ever ready for, no matter what she says. Yeah, I’m blowing it up for all the tough-as-nails Moms out there. It is never easy to say goodbye to your child, and it doesn’t matter if they’re leaving for the weekend or the semester. Moms spend hours of labor trying to get you into this world, then spend years trying to prepare you to leave her home, and then when you do, they want you to come back. She calls you and hounds you to come visit, and it gets annoying, but you were everything she knew for decades, and now she can’t hug you when she wants, or see if you’re doing alright. Your Mom will never stop wondering if you’re okay, even when you’re old enough to take care of her. She made you. She spent years of her life putting you first, not considering herself a priority for time, money, food, love, or care. She has worked endlessly for your happiness, and has felt the pain of your misdirected anger. She has cried for you more times than you can count.
There is a reason why so many people talk about how special their Mom is/was. Moms are something that gets woven into us. Some people have had a less than positive experience with their Moms, and can’t relate at all to any of what I’ve said. Again, I’m speaking from a basic cultural standpoint that is prevalent in even the poorest of homes. Income and status need not have anything to do with it. To some children, their mother is their security blanket, and the mother doesn’t even pay attention to them, but just knowing that she is physically there is enough to create a bond.
Mothers experience a change when they have a baby, and whether that change is positive or negative, it never leaves her, and it never leaves the baby. The baby will grow up with feelings toward the woman who felt at least positively enough about them, that she would let her body be defeated by pain, just to bring them into this world. Even for Moms who don’t show their children affection or support, there is still an emotional tie that never goes away. Even cases of greed and deceit early on, can turn into guilt and anguish for women who are incapable of manifesting the “Motherly” manner toward their children. So there is always an effect.
I think, generally, Mothers teach us that women can MAKE a human being. They can make a person. They can produce the vessel, to be filled with good or bad, and present it to the world. Women make the mark on society by even choosing to have a child or not. It’s a process that makes a person realize they could have been nothing, but instead they are here, and now they too have the choice to create something to present to the world. Without Mothers, there is nothing to present. We make the world.
This day is for every Mom, even the Mother of that evil spray-tanned toddler wearing the president’s hat. I’m sure she has the superhuman ability to love him, which is pretty impressive for any human (she’s human, right?). You gotta give it to the woman who dealt with that shit,….so then I guess probably the nanny?
No worries, nannies. You will have your own special relationship with the child/ren, because it’s been shown that children develop similar bonds with nannies, for the same reasons as they do with their Moms: when needs are met, the child feels safe, and trusts that they can rely on this person for care. The only difference is, the child grows to realize that this nanny is not their Mother, and they thereby create the separation, but the genuine emotional feeling of security is still there.
Even in respect to the nannies, Moms have to make the decision to let another person care for their child, and I am sure there are some Mothers who would prefer a better situation, but can’t for whatever reason. This is difficult for those Moms, because women are expected to return to work so quickly after maternity leave, that they miss out on the essential bonding that happens between a Mother and baby. For Moms who can’t be bothered by their children’s presence, there are some much more toxic underlying issues happening in that world, and it’s probably better for the child to be cared for by the nanny. This will create a bigger bond between the child and nanny, but the child will learn that their needs are being met by somebody and it very well could have been nobody. The Mother had to make sure the child was cared for, so there is some semblance of love toward the child, whether the Mother wants to acknowledge it or not.
Becoming a Mom is easy. BEING a Mom, every day, is the tough part. Giving up will cross your mind. You lose a part of you that for soooo long, used to belong to you, but now belongs to someone else. You cry, you laugh, you pray to nobody, you eat a plate of French fries at 2 o’clock in the morning because it’s the only time you can eat without someone stealing your food, you starve for five days straight because you put the kids first, you wonder if you will ever pee without an audience again, you forget how many days it has been since the last time you showered (tub with baby may have been it), you find things within you that you didn’t think were there, you find things within your toilet that you did not want in there, you stop giving a fuck about anyone else, you surprise yourself with how long you can go without sleeping, you silent scream wishes that the baby would just go to sleep, but then when they do, you just stare at them and stroke their fat little hands, wondering how they can be that beautiful.
And then they wake up and they’ve shit themselves, and removed their diaper for you already, and painted a beautiful poop mural on the wall. That full body electrical shock is sounding pretty nice, isn’t it?
Happy Life Day!