Good Moms
It is possible to take optimism too far. It wasn’t until I had my third baby that I really let go of the hope that I could one day figure it all out and become a perfect mother. Don’t get me wrong: I knew I wasn’t there yet. I messed up every day. But right up until I brought that third delightful bundle of possibilities home, I kept stubbornly believing that perfection was possible, and if I read enough parenting books and tried really hard, every second of every day, I would eventually master the feedings, the bedtimes, the teaching, the discipline and - voila! - produce well-adjusted, intelligent children who would never grow up to say, “My life would be better if only my mom had done X - or hadn’t done Y.”
I think I deserve some credit for keeping up the illusion that long, but some time after Baby Number Three arrived, the bubble finally burst. It might have been postpartum hormones or it might have been the evening we arrived late for my talented little sister’s piano recital . . . bumping up the aisle loaded down with a car seat, diaper bag and two-year-old, preschooler running merrily ahead . . . and I realized, “We have become one of THOSE families.” I was never going to get everything right. I could remind myself that no parent ever had or ever would, but that wasn’t much consolation, because it wasn’t about the comparison, it was about my kids. I loved them, and I didn’t want them to suffer for my mistakes.
For a few weeks, I felt sad every time I bumped against that realization, and then I accepted it. I was too busy to brood over it, and there were compensations, like the delight of reading a storybook with a baby on my lap and a small child snuggled in on either side of me. (I fell asleep reading a lot of storybooks in those days.) To be honest, that whole “not being a perfect parent” thing has eaten at me more in the past five years or so, than in the two decades intervening. So perhaps this open letter, although I address it to new moms, is really meant for me, and for parents at all levels of experience:
Dear Friend,
I don’t know you well, but I heard what you said the other day, with a tear on your cheek and your arms full of your precious child: “I’m afraid I won’t be a good mother.” I’ve heard those words before. I’ve said them myself. And if you’re still in those dizzying first weeks of sleeplessness and adjustment, you’d better put this letter away for awhile. Read it when you feel a little more in control of things, because what I have to tell you isn’t easy to hear.
You won’t be a good mother.
Not if by a good mother, you mean what I meant: “good enough. . .” Good enough to protect your child from any serious adversity. Good enough at managing nutrition and environment and checkups to prevent serious illness. Good enough at supporting his development and sharing a love of learning that he will succeed in school. Good enough at nurturing self-esteem to prevent mental illness. Good enough at instilling values of hard work and integrity to keep him in gainful employment and out of the justice system. Good enough at modelling healthy coping skills to make her impervious to addiction. Good enough at loving and communicating that they will never, ever reject you.
You won’t be the “good mother” you want to be, because you are human and imperfect, and you know that - that’s why you’re afraid. Probably nothing in your life has confirmed your faults and frailties like the arrival of this child has. Worse news: even if you could do ‘everything’ right, these outcomes simply aren’t in your control.
But I will tell you what you will be. You will be good enough to sit and read with your dyslexic child, day after day and year after year. You will be good enough to hold his hand and keep him occupied week after week while an IV pumps cancer-killing drugs into his veins. Good enough to maintain a calming presence when poisoned emotions wrack her body with uncontrollable shaking. Good enough to be their ally at trial although you’ve never set foot in a courtroom before; good enough to visit them in prison. Good enough to maintain boundaries when it’s agony to do so, but also good enough to keep hoping and praying for a change.
“And how can I ever be that much,” you want to ask, “when I can’t even manage colic and diaper rash?” Make no mistake, I know you’re not that heroic mother now. But when circumstances demand it, you will become what you need to be because you love your child and you will never give up on them. Time and necessity will shape you. If you really think about the journey that brought your baby to this day, here in your arms, you will realize it already has.
You will be amazing.
All my love,
Annette
