Mothers Beget Mothers
Mothers Beget Mothers
It’s a biological fact that we are designed to oppose our parents. Don’t believe me? I challenge you to meet up with an eighth grade girl and ask her how much her parents know. It’s not about the love, it’s about the brain. And the brain says, “No! Don’t let them be right!” Until you have a baby.
I spent my middle and high school years scoffing at 98% of what my mother told me about everything. Then I spent college just not telling her about anything. After college I no longer needed advice (fortunately I knew everything) and went to NYC. Then I spent the majority of my twenties listening to her and doing what I wanted to anyway.
Then I had a baby. The realization that your sole purpose in life is to keep another human alive is a daunting task. But keeping another human alive and content is much, much harder. Ask anyone with a newborn at 3 a.m. how they are faring. If they were like me, they were probably curled up on the couch watching a small being in a swing (which you aren’t supposed to do, FYI) and crying. It does give you the realization that your parents know so much more than you gave them credit for.
A week into keeping our human alive, Matt got tonsillitis. Yeah- that’s what I wrote. And it was CRAZY. WE HAD A NEWBORN. No one in our house was sleeping but now I was on my own with a newborn since my husband had an infectious disease and had to be quarantined from both of us. Finally the day came when I realized I was going to have to return the baby. I was not able to take care of such a small creature on my own. I cried and then tried to figure out how I was going to tell Matt that we were going to have to take the baby back. Fortunately common sense prevailed (you don’t really want to return the baby, it’s the hormones) and I called my mother. Who showed up with a packed bag, and essentially took over for a bit. Because mothers know things that novices don’t- like how to calm a screaming baby who is full, changed and seems unhurt. Check. How many blankets you should pile on the little booger. Check. Rocking for hours at a time while the actual mother sleeps. Check.
I never thought I would be considering asking my mother or mother-in-law to move in with us, but I consider it all the time. Legitimately figuring out a way to approach it that won’t just get turned down. That’s why I’m always offering to let them stay beyond when they had planned to, thanking them profusely, and praying that maybe this time they will realize we are having a tough go of parenthood. Motherhood is really hard. Really hard. I’m sure my own mother had no idea, right?
It’s not about whether or not it takes a village to raise a child, it’s that you WANT a village to help take care of yours. When Sarah Leighton was just over six weeks old, I headed with her up to the lake. It was a big deal. One of the longest hours of my life as we drove and I anxiously kept peering at her. While there, we had some old family friends visit. One of them, S, who has two little boys of her own looked at us and said, “You should come to our place tonight. We have a much higher adult baby ratio. There are only three of you for her.” We laughed but we laughed because…it was true. Three adults and one baby? That baby is going to kick your tail. She will take on everyone around her and win.
Once we understand that we are both leading and at the mercy of an incredible yet tiny being, it becomes much easier. Once I stopped making it about things I didn’t know before, hadn’t been told, and let SL explain her needs, it became more pleasant too. The other day at lunch one of my colleagues told me she remembered looking at her own daughter early on and realizing that she was keeping a human alive. But she said if she failed her, if she lost her at this point even, it would have brought her more joy than anything in her life she could have imagined. For me, it was this profound moment because I understood exactly what she meant. That from the moment you hold that baby, you are involved in the most important and enthralling project you’ll ever take on. That you both created a human and are in charge of shaping him or her into a productive citizen (I hope). But you won’t do it alone.
You may not have your mother to teach you how to become a mother. But you will have people in your life that will help you form this person, even at 2 a.m.. And if you’re like me, you’re going to consider multiple ways of coercing them into moving into your home. Once there, hopefully they can teach you the skills you’ll need to pass onto your own child so the night they call you, flipping out because they’ve just realized that their baby may never sleep or stop crying again, you’ll be ready to show them that they can do it, too.
It’s a biological fact that we are designed to oppose our parents. Don’t believe me? I challenge you to meet up with an eighth grade girl and ask her how much her parents know. It’s not about the love, it’s about the brain. And the brain says, “No! Don’t let them be right!” Until you have a baby.
I spent my middle and high school years scoffing at 98% of what my mother told me about everything. Then I spent college just not telling her about anything. After college I no longer needed advice (fortunately I knew everything) and went to NYC. Then I spent the majority of my twenties listening to her and doing what I wanted to anyway.
Then I had a baby. The realization that your sole purpose in life is to keep another human alive is a daunting task. But keeping another human alive and content is much, much harder. Ask anyone with a newborn at 3 a.m. how they are faring. If they were like me, they were probably curled up on the couch watching a small being in a swing (which you aren’t supposed to do, FYI) and crying. It does give you the realization that your parents know so much more than you gave them credit for.
A week into keeping our human alive, Matt got tonsillitis. Yeah- that’s what I wrote. And it was CRAZY. WE HAD A NEWBORN. No one in our house was sleeping but now I was on my own with a newborn since my husband had an infectious disease and had to be quarantined from both of us. Finally the day came when I realized I was going to have to return the baby. I was not able to take care of such a small creature on my own. I cried and then tried to figure out how I was going to tell Matt that we were going to have to take the baby back. Fortunately common sense prevailed (you don’t really want to return the baby, it’s the hormones) and I called my mother. Who showed up with a packed bag, and essentially took over for a bit. Because mothers know things that novices don’t- like how to calm a screaming baby who is full, changed and seems unhurt. Check. How many blankets you should pile on the little booger. Check. Rocking for hours at a time while the actual mother sleeps. Check.
I never thought I would be considering asking my mother or mother-in-law to move in with us, but I consider it all the time. Legitimately figuring out a way to approach it that won’t just get turned down. That’s why I’m always offering to let them stay beyond when they had planned to, thanking them profusely, and praying that maybe this time they will realize we are having a tough go of parenthood. Motherhood is really hard. Really hard. I’m sure my own mother had no idea, right?
It’s not about whether or not it takes a village to raise a child, it’s that you WANT a village to help take care of yours. When Sarah Leighton was just over six weeks old, I headed with her up to the lake. It was a big deal. One of the longest hours of my life as we drove and I anxiously kept peering at her. While there, we had some old family friends visit. One of them, S, who has two little boys of her own looked at us and said, “You should come to our place tonight. We have a much higher adult baby ratio. There are only three of you for her.” We laughed but we laughed because…it was true. Three adults and one baby? That baby is going to kick your tail. She will take on everyone around her and win.
Once we understand that we are both leading and at the mercy of an incredible yet tiny being, it becomes much easier. Once I stopped making it about things I didn’t know before, hadn’t been told, and let SL explain her needs, it became more pleasant too. The other day at lunch one of my colleagues told me she remembered looking at her own daughter early on and realizing that she was keeping a human alive. But she said if she failed her, if she lost her at this point even, it would have brought her more joy than anything in her life she could have imagined. For me, it was this profound moment because I understood exactly what she meant. That from the moment you hold that baby, you are involved in the most important and enthralling project you’ll ever take on. That you both created a human and are in charge of shaping him or her into a productive citizen (I hope). But you won’t do it alone.
You may not have your mother to teach you how to become a mother. But you will have people in your life that will help you form this person, even at 2 a.m.. And if you’re like me, you’re going to consider multiple ways of coercing them into moving into your home. Once there, hopefully they can teach you the skills you’ll need to pass onto your own child so the night they call you, flipping out because they’ve just realized that their baby may never sleep or stop crying again, you’ll be ready to show them that they can do it, too.
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