You get so expert in budgeting time, in narrowing down the things that must get done into the things that can get done, that when a nap goes long and you have written the work e-mails, done the dishes, mailed a thank-you note, and did the laundry yesterday, then you have time to think about what it is you're actually doing. Like, with your life. It can make you wish for more laundry.
There's a moment in books about moms who choose to stay at home with kids -- and this is all books, fiction, non-fiction, magazine articles, tweets probably -- where the mom describes this unexpected moment of maternal clarity. It always, always, goes exactly like this: "I had thought I was the kind of person with ambition who belonged in that corner office, I had thought we would get a babysitter, but then, the first moment I saw him in the hospital and looked into his little eyes, everything changed. I knew that I couldn't stand to be away from my baby." When I read those stories while pregnant, looking for clues about the world to come, I had my doubts that this moment would happen to me. And, in fact, while I would certainly cop to their cuteness, I would have to say that my kid's eyes have not vacuumed out all ambition from my soul.
But here's the secret . . . I kind of wanted them to. I'm at a weird place, in a weird job, or a weird combination of art job and day job and potential other jobs. I'm kind of floating, and while it's been a good year for almosts, it hasn't been a great year for actuals. Add to this a baby, and maybe it's a little more forgivable that, somewhere in the back of my reptile brain, I was thinking, "Moment with the eyes! What if I have one of those moments with the eyes where everything I've ever wanted before seems petty and I know that my destiny is to be a stay-at-home mom? I'll just tell my husband he has to support the whole family, no problem, right?" (fyi: problem)
So, I sat there in the hospital, looking at her eyes, waiting to have my ego obliterated. Not so much. And in the days and weeks and months that have followed, while I love her and her eyes very much and have way more patience for her than any other kid I've ever babysat, I haven't stopped wanting all the things I used to want. I just have no idea how I'm going to get them. And in moments when she naps long and I'm not working and I have time to think about things, I can get a little queasy realizing that she may not have sucked the ambition out of me, just the energy to do anything about it.
The last couple days, though, I stopped looking at her eyes, and I started looking at her legs. They are tiny and soft and she kicks the floor or the changing mat like crazy whenever she's in a good mood. Sometimes the good mood is easily readable as just plain happy. Sometimes she's kicking the floor because she's trying to fit a plastic toy from the playmat into her mouth and it won't quite go. She's frustrated. She's trying to grow and it's hard. But, God bless her, she keeps trying and getting better, and using every bit of strength she has to improve. Maybe some day I'll write an essay for a book about non-stay-at-home moms and I'll get to say, "Forget your baby's eyes. Do something too hard for you. Look at your baby's legs."
No comments:
Post a Comment