Looking back
When Noah was a wee little baby, about Milo-sized, I was so enamored with the little miracle that he was that I would look at every other child and think, “Poor woman, doesn’t she know that my child is the shining star in this room?” Although previously a great admirer of children of all ages and sizes, my perfect little boy was so endlessly fascinating that other kids were wallpaper paste in my eyes.
I couldn’t stop looking at him even when I wanted to. I couldn’t stop admiring the curve of his ears and his sweet little hands even when I desperately wanted to run off and do something else. I felt bound to him, captured by him. I couldn’t stand to be away from him but at the same time I felt trapped.
You can’t tell a pregnant mom that this is how it’s going to be. You can tell her that she’ll be busy and tired but it’s impossible to explain that you will also be devoured by love, a love that’s so intense that it can drive you more than a little mad. They tell you their plans — the novel they’ll finish, how they don’t believe in co-sleeping, when they’ll return to work — and you can only nod because they won’t believe you when you tell them that it’s all going to be so much harder than that. Motherhood shakes the very foundations of your life that you’ve worked so hard to build.
I think it’s unfair that families have to make work and childcare choices before the baby ever shows up. That great daycare on the corner suddenly doesn’t look so good because you discover that structure doesn’t appeal to you in reality the way it did in theory. Or that baby care book that made so much sense when you were pregnant now reads like it was written by fascists. Or that the love for your baby would be so damn physical, that your arms would ache when your baby wasn’t in them even if you’re desperate for some time by yourself. And you fume, “Why didn’t anyone tell me!!!” But they couldn’t because you never would have believed them.
I was home from work for three months and then worked — with Noah in a sling on weekdays and home with dad on weekends — part-time for another two. I thought it would work — it worked on paper — but I didn’t know how jealous I would be of every minute I spent away from my boy. Finally I came home, we moved to Cowtown and I began detoxing.
Detox is the best way I can describe it.
I had to get used to boredom, which was hard at first. Especially because it’s such a busy boredom. Move the baby here, move the baby there — dangle different toys to keep his chattering little monkey mind happy. Nurse and change him, nurse and change him, nurse nurse nurse. And suddenly it’s 2pm and we’re still in our pajamas. We lived in this strange little Noah bubble where everything centered on him and I was just trying to keep my head above water. I had never been so happy. Or so tired. Or so hysterical, really, only I didn’t know it.
Noah got mobile early so by the time he was 9 months old, we would go on those endless afternoon walks. It took a half hour to stroll half a block because every leaf, every berry, every flower must be examined and named. Even while I felt exhilarated to be out walking with my boy, sharing the world with him, I felt my insides desperate to run around in circles. I yawned great gulping yawns, feeling so oxygen-deprived. Our day was made of molasses and I was treading slowly through it, desperately in love.
I envied my friend who worked (and who had enough money) but the thought of walking away from our molasses routine was horrifying. Every morning Noah would pull all of his clothes out of the dresser drawer one-by-one and we would name them before putting them back. The clock ticked past 9am, headed towards 10. I was unshowered and sleepy, wearing the same damn burnt-orange nursing shirt I always wore and those baggy black pants and the ugly, nubby socks. I would think exultantly of how much I was giving him by being here counting each sock, refolding each shirt but I also felt desperate to get us dressed, get us downstairs, get us out of the house, get us somewhere else entirely. A job with a neat desk and a timetable, perhaps. Clear expectations, maybe. Rewards at the end of the day, people saying, “Good job, Dawn! Nice work, Dawn!” And then I’d focus back on my son’s diligent face, his serious little eyebrows as he held up a once-folded diaper.
“Ba!” he would say.
“You have a diaper,” I would answer, brightly, my voice full of enthusiasm. “Look! Another diaper!”
Every morning this solemn unfolding, ever morning I scurried to refold while my toddling 9-month old held on to the gate at the top of the stairs, shaking shaking shaking it, prepared to wail if I took too long to whisk him downstairs. I was his prisoner, his happy slave, thrilled to be responsible for the minutiae of his life.
It was hard for me but not as hard as it is for other moms; I think I was well-suited to be an at-home mother. I had the confidence to meet his developmental needs in part because I spent more than 7 professional years learning about kids in real-life settings and going to trainings rooted in practicality. It was fun to see child development unfolding in technicolor right in my own home; that interested me. I was also able to let go of schedules pretty easily. The shelter had a routine but it wasn’t predictable and before that I worked in childcare where even the most organized classroom had to go with the flow. Finally, I’ve always had a pretty rich inner-life. I daydreamed my way through school and then fit in all of my imaginings during my work years during long bus commutes. Being at home with no company but a pre-verbal baby and my thoughts was not as mind-numbing as it might be to someone who craves the company of other people. I was lucky, I think, to discover that it suited me.
But at the same time I can see how it would be impossible for other women. I can see that the unpredictable yet ironic sameness of the day could make some people crazy or that trying to figure out how to meet a grouchy child’s needs could drive someone to distraction. I feel lucky that the rewards are obvious to me and that even on the worst days, the most jealous days, I never wanted to go back to work. Sure, I missed it but I miss my blue-suede, lace-up Esprit ankleboots that I bought with my babysitting money in 1985 — doesn’t mean I ever want to go back.
Anyway, reading the blogs of the new moms gives me flashbacks to those early delirious but delicious days. I know that our next baby won’t get my undivided adoration in the same way but I think that’s all right. He or she will get my hard-earned confidence, which is a fair trade. Mostly I wish I could give those new moms a big hug and some time off to go to a bookstore and get a latte (decaf if the baby can’t handle caffeine). I’m sending you virtual vibes of understanding!!!!
“busy boredom”– yes, yes, yes. adjusting to stay-at-home life was very difficult for me, for many of the reasons you mentioned. now that i’m straddling both worlds, with two part-time jobs, i miss my children but i don’t miss that loneliness, the feeling that my brain was being slowly wiped clean.
thanks for the memories!
my son has just started daycare after being home with me for 7 months. I thought it would be a relief to get back to an adult world, but I am filled with more anxiety than I could every imagine. Sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe.
I am not suited to be a stay at home mom, but there is a constant background buzz of thoughts about my son. Sometimes I hear ghost cries and go looking for him, or my arms ache with the feelings of a phantom infant in them.
And you are absolutely right, no one could have told me, even when they tried. And as I try to pass that on to other moms they look at me with disbelief.
Wow, this is a beautiful post. It really describes SAHM to a tee, it even brought tears to my eyes.
Thank you so much for writing this. I needed to read this today.
wow- thanks for capturing it just right. Some days I’m exceptionally well suited for this SAHM-deal, but others, I could just shoot myself in the head the minutes are so slow. I printed your essay out to give to my best friend (expecting her first baby in the spring). There’s only so much I can tell her now, and you’ve done it beautifully.
Thank you for your eloquent explanation of how our lives really are. It has me in tears to read how I feel on most days :).
This is one of your most beautiful essays. I have been lurking around your site (even before you moved to your “new” domain name) for a few years, so I have seen a lot of them
I just because a SAHM after the birth of my second child 9 months ago. And I can honestly say I do love it. Would I have loved it if I did it with my first? No–it would have been too hard. It would have been too hard on my ego.
I had spent alot of time gathering and accumulating all that fed my ego within my career (fancy degrees, ivy league institutions, lots of responsibilities). I loved handing out my business card. I thrived on the rush of how important I was.
So what changed? My identity over the first few years of my son’s life began to encompass “mom”. And I realized that time goes pretty fast. Well, not while you are in the midst of it but looking over three years that teeny mewling baby is talking in complete sentences happens in the blink of an eye. And there was another really important ego to be building…my son’s.
It stinks to be between a rock and a hard place. I could not work full-time (or the 30 hrs I was) and mother full-time. So I quit my job — with a lot of grief.
But the gift here is that I have discovered that my identity has expanded. I have learned far more about myself than ever before. I think raising children is an art and is something I am truly proud of (as proud as when I got that fancy ivy league Ph.D.).
This is what I wish I could have mustered through with my first…but I wasn’t there in my own development. I am glad I am here with the second.
Thanks for the essay, for speaking your truth and for your honoring mothers.
PRedictable sameness
Oh yes. A world of yes….
This was perfect. I know that I too am suited to be a stay at home mother. I fear as to how much longer I can actually stay home and I pray that it can go on longer, but I’m not sure it will. In the meantime, I try to enjoy every moment of the unpredictable yet same days as they come.
Wonderful essay Dawn - beautiful
As I start my sahm-hood, I often wonder about my identity, my pride, and if I am made for this. I really appreciate you speaking from the heart.
Beautiful, Dawn. Beautiful.
Beautiful, Dawn. Beautiful.
Having you here and your knowledge and that of the other blog mamas has really increased my confidence. It’s great to have these places and words to turn to!!! Thank you ever so much.
Beautiful essay! I’ve been doing the SAHM thing for nearly 11 years now. “Unpredictable sameness” is a perfect way to describe my life with my two sons. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
What a great celebration of at-home mothering. I’m a SAHM mother of two and although sometimes I ache for adult companionship and a routine that doesn’t involve diaper-changing, chasing a toddler, and picking up toys, I can honestly say that I would not want it any other way. Mothering my children is the most important thing I do.
I am at home with my 3 children and I love it-childhood is so very short. I like looking after my baby at home and also picking the others up from school and finding out how their day has been. I have been fortunate enough that I have never had to use childcare. I alwsys believe that no one else will invest in your child as you will.
Thanks for telling it like it is Dawn:)
Even though I’m not there yet, I hope to be some day.
I’m on the other side of things, a full-time working mama while Dad stays home and the aches you describe … well it made my eyes sting with tears a little to read it.
I ache to trade places. To be the one at home. Like you, I feel that I’m rather well suited to it, where my husband, bless his heart for trying, is not. I too have a rather active “inner life” that keeps my imagination busy, I enjoy taking my son to the park in the afternoon when I get home. I can either play with him, or stand on the sidelines and watch him interact with the toys, climbing structures, other kids and be writing background stories for characters in my head at the same time.
The same activity bores my husband to tears, so we’re working on trading places, slowly but surely.
It’s funny, because my husband thought it would be easier to be at home. He wanted to be a stay at home dad, even though he wound up being one due to unforseen circumstances.
So while we’re both itching to reverse our arrangment, I’m also glad he got to experience this year and change of being the primary caregiver. This way we’ll both be aware of the good side and the not-so-good side of the job.
in my case staying home wasn’t an option…but it was for my husband, who worked a weird weekend shift. So between us juggling our schedules and luck that my parents lived next door our children never stayed in day care. Even now, with our children all in school, we juggle our schedule so that one parent is always there. but its hard to get up out of the house when you go to peek at your little ones and they are snuggled in their beds. course, juggling schedules is not an option for everyone.
Wow! Amazing entry, Dawn. Thanks for writing.
This was wonderful — thank you!
How beautiful. I don’t feel so alone. You capture exactly how I’ve felt these past 15 months. I’m very right-brained, and could never come close to putting my thoughts out like this, so eloquently.