WhitneyTo Be or Not To Be a Mother - Part Three
April 4th 2007 17:08
Now that I was in school my husband let me spend some time alone in the downstairs den on Sundays. We’d put up the childproof gates so the kids couldn’t access the stairs to go down. This way I got to do my studying, write my papers, etc. for a few hours a week, all by myself. No interruptions. I didn’t have to play with anyone, or listen to anyone or feed anyone or diaper anyone or do anything for anyone other than me. For those few hours a week, it was all about me. And after back-to-back bedridden pregnancies and three years of nonstop sacrificing for everyone else’s needs, I felt as if I’d found Nirvana.
Of course it was me we were talking about. And doing something nice for myself and only myself, was not something I was used to, or had been encouraged at any point in my life to do. So what did that mean? Guilt. Lots and lots of guilt. I was being selfish. After all, my husband worked lots and lots of hours a week, didn’t he deserve this time alone more? And what about all those hours I was spending away from the kids when I was I school? Wouldn’t a good mother spend every other waking hour making up for this lost bonding time? But you know what, and this reaction baffled even me, I did it anyway.
And it did help to tell myself that I needed this time alone to pass my courses. The only other study time being after I put Alex to bed and when I sat next to Josh on his bed and instead of reading yet another book about cars, trains, boats and planes I took out my anatomy textbook and turned my studying into an interactive game. But while Josh had a ball, this tired and starving mother resented having to add another burden to an already difficult task of memorizing a million body parts.
So like I said I really appreciated my mommy break on Sunday afternoons. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long. Because less than six months later, and with a year and half of school still to go, Alex turned two and my husband laid down the law, “she was now too old for childproof gates”. Both of us knowing that as soon as those gates were gone Alex would be down in the den and driving me crazy in a New York Minute.
“Why”, I asked, near tears, “why couldn’t we still use the gates?” But he just repeated what he’d already said and that was the end of it. You know it didn’t make sense to me. She was only two why couldn’t she be confined to the upstairs for a few hours a week to give me time to study in peace? But he was adamant. He wouldn’t budge. And since he didn’t promise to keep Alex upstairs or out of the house when the gates were no longer in place, I knew it meant an end to one of the few moments I actually enjoyed being home.
You know deep down, even though I would never say it aloud, I truly believed he did that for himself. Because the kids were very demanding and a lot of work and he didn’t want to amuse them for a few hours on Sunday. But what could I say? He was right. And I was wrong. I always felt everyone else was right and I was wrong. Even if I thought about it and the other person didn’t make sense, I assumed it was because I was dense and was missing the gist of what they were telling me. So I didn’t fuss too much. What is, is I thought, the depression that had never really cleared, settling back over me. I was sad but I did what I was supposed to do. I put on a happy face and did what I always did. Which was what everyone else wanted me to do.
Of course it was me we were talking about. And doing something nice for myself and only myself, was not something I was used to, or had been encouraged at any point in my life to do. So what did that mean? Guilt. Lots and lots of guilt. I was being selfish. After all, my husband worked lots and lots of hours a week, didn’t he deserve this time alone more? And what about all those hours I was spending away from the kids when I was I school? Wouldn’t a good mother spend every other waking hour making up for this lost bonding time? But you know what, and this reaction baffled even me, I did it anyway.
And it did help to tell myself that I needed this time alone to pass my courses. The only other study time being after I put Alex to bed and when I sat next to Josh on his bed and instead of reading yet another book about cars, trains, boats and planes I took out my anatomy textbook and turned my studying into an interactive game. But while Josh had a ball, this tired and starving mother resented having to add another burden to an already difficult task of memorizing a million body parts.
So like I said I really appreciated my mommy break on Sunday afternoons. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long. Because less than six months later, and with a year and half of school still to go, Alex turned two and my husband laid down the law, “she was now too old for childproof gates”. Both of us knowing that as soon as those gates were gone Alex would be down in the den and driving me crazy in a New York Minute.
“Why”, I asked, near tears, “why couldn’t we still use the gates?” But he just repeated what he’d already said and that was the end of it. You know it didn’t make sense to me. She was only two why couldn’t she be confined to the upstairs for a few hours a week to give me time to study in peace? But he was adamant. He wouldn’t budge. And since he didn’t promise to keep Alex upstairs or out of the house when the gates were no longer in place, I knew it meant an end to one of the few moments I actually enjoyed being home.
You know deep down, even though I would never say it aloud, I truly believed he did that for himself. Because the kids were very demanding and a lot of work and he didn’t want to amuse them for a few hours on Sunday. But what could I say? He was right. And I was wrong. I always felt everyone else was right and I was wrong. Even if I thought about it and the other person didn’t make sense, I assumed it was because I was dense and was missing the gist of what they were telling me. So I didn’t fuss too much. What is, is I thought, the depression that had never really cleared, settling back over me. I was sad but I did what I was supposed to do. I put on a happy face and did what I always did. Which was what everyone else wanted me to do.
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