Once again, one of my Mummy friends (yes, the same one) pointed me to this article about a mum being bored by her children.
I’ve heard, since I read it a couple of days ago, that she meant to be controversial and spark reactions. I still have to say (well, I guess I don’t HAVE to, but I suppose I will anyway) that it’s a stupid thing to write. And I can’t help but feel terrible for her kids who are probably all too aware that their mum is more interested in matching her skirts with her shoes than in anything that’s important to them.
There are things about being a mum that I don’t adore. Sure, sitting on the floor with a cranky one-year-old and listening to the same damn Mozart Music Box tune over and over again while he pounds on his xylophone/piano isn’t always terribly enjoyable. Or when he has a tantrum because I won’t let him empty the lazy susan of its entire contents. Or when he wants me to carry his 26 1/2-lb self everywhere and not put him down so I can make dinner.
Oh, wait, the Nanny is supposed to take care of that — the carrying or the cooking, either one.
Maybe I’m not bored with my kid because I spend enough time with him to see him when he’s delightful, not just when he needs something from me.
And maybe I wanted to have children because getting to play games like pass-the-parcel at birthday parties sounds like fun, not boring drudgery to be avoided.
I’m sure Duncan — and his possible future siblings — will manage to drive me to the edges of insanity and exhaustion. Perhaps having conversations about things I already know (but will hopefully be marveling that they know), or watching soccer games or swim meets or badly acting school plays will have their boring moments. But they’ll be with my kids. My family. People I love more than anything in the world.
Hmm…maybe that’s because I love people, not things or prestige or feeling important to other people who pretend to be important. Maybe that’s the difference.
I do understand her point about mums needing to have lives of their own and not become totally wrapped up in only being a mother and having no other identity. I get that. I do. I have a life. I had to make a conscious decision to ask family and friends to regularly babysit so I could go out on my own and do stuff. And if Kevin didn’t have a night-shift schedule we’d be going on dates together during some of those times. I do a lot of things where I take Duncan with me (within reason). I get together with other Mum friends and talk about things other than just kids — though we are rather fascinated with our babies right now so we tend to talk about mummy things a lot, which we really need, too. I work. I go to church. I maintain friendships with adult women who don’t have children or grown children.
Maybe I’ll feel different when Duncan is 10. I hope not.