peevish mama

Yesterday, in a rare moment of solidarity, Saint James and Supergirl stood in front of me, grinning secretively with their arms hooked around each other’s necks and asked what I wanted for Mother’s Day. I practically had to clap my hands over my mouth to stop the words from tumbling out – Nothing, I don’t deserve anything. What? WHAT? Have I gone insane? Have a mere four weeks of disability basically annihilated nearly nine years of mothering? Just because I haven’t cooked them a meal, met them at the bus stop, washed their clothes, made their lunches, picked up their rooms, bathed them or gone to the supermarket in weeks, doesn’t mean I’m not still their mother and deserving of all the love and attention and little kid handcrafted goodness they choose to shower me with! I still clip their nails, read to them, fold their laundry, chat with them, drive them to school, watch their soccer games, but what? Is that not enough? Apparently not for this fool.

Consistently through out this recovery process, I have been confounded by what a mind fuck it has been. The physical upheaval does not begin to approach the mental. I thought I was just feeling humility slash humiliation at having to depend on others for everything. I thought I was just feeling guilty for leaving so much work for everyone else to do. I thought I was just feeling foolish about boohooing my own situation when other people have it so much worse. I thought I was just feeling angered by my physical limitations, with my inability to work out my excess energy, angst, and emotion by moving my body, by sweating. I thought I was just feeling lonely, with only Legasus as my friend. I thought I was just going crazy from the stillness, the introspection, the time in my head. As it happens, that’s not all. I was also losing my identity.

I am floored by this. It turns out that motherhood is more a state of doing, than a state of being. It sounds like crazy talk, but stripped of my “jobs”, I feel useless, superfluous, more like a coddled visitor than the beating heart of this family. I know that’s not true with my head, but I can tell you that in those seconds my kids stood in front of me, half dressed for school, my heart felt undeserving and that’s just sad. And unnecessary. 

So I collected myself and said what I always say. I would love it if you wrote me a story.