Never the Martyr

I try not to engage in what the media so lovingly refers to as the "Mommy Wars". I think it's petty, divisive, and simply deconstructive for women- for mothers- to second guess one another and participate in the nasty-looks-across-the-playground-I'm-better-than-you gossip that we were all subjected to in the 5th grade. To stay home or to work. That is the battle ground isn't it? After the pregnancy test it's the first real decision. Both are sacrifices we're told. Stay home and sacrifice your financial and professional life, go kamikaze on your Social Security and retirement. Go to work and sacrifice your kid's emotional life and have one of those anxious preschoolers whose play is overly territorial and takes on that eager-to-please-the-teacher approach to learning way too early in life. Not to mention the conundrum of going back to work as a mother. We make less than our single female counterparts and are more likely to be passed up for promotions and challenging projects. Single mothers fare the worst.

Then there are the perfect mommies. Those women who seem to somehow find a perfect balance of career and home, preferably career from home. They're able to contribute to their family's financial well-being and personal sense of accomplishment while still being as involved and engaged in the family home life as a full time stay at home parent. It's the dream isn't it? I know it's mine. To be known by my first name AND Mama. To somehow feed both psyches now that my heart and mind are irrevocably split in two by the process of becoming a mother. Since I've just born my second son I'm in full mother mode. Always fulfilling someones needs before my own, putting plans on hold to let the baby take a nap, nursing the baby while the dinner I've spent two hours preparing gets cold. Foregoing sleep, for God's sake, to make sure the baby is fed, and loved, and happy. And this is what makes me happy. Seeing that baby grow fat, the first smiles spread across his face like the morning sunshine. I am all instinct and hormones. I will do anything for this tiny creature who clutches at my breast and sucks hungrily. But right before he was born I started to get a whiff of that other self. She was tugging at my skirt saying, "Remember me?" The one who loves to make dance, wants to write a column, and put in hours at the community garden. The one who even luxuriously entertains the idea of going back to school and finishing her MFA degree in dance or more practically pursuing the doctorate in physical therapy. But to even write about her is a strain on my mental energies. Back on vacation she goes for another 3 years. (That is if I don't have another one!) But when do I get to indulge her? When the baby is two and the diapers are finally put away? After I've been out of the work force for 6+ years?

I know these aren't the right questions. The right questions are Why do I live in a society that doesn't value women's work? Why is my labor in no way measured in economic scales or tracked as an asset in my country's GDP? Why is there such a prominent division of labor among the sexes? Why does equality make me look shamefully like a man? (The fact that Hilary Clinton has cleavage was enough to give the fashion police the vapors. I mean big time.) I wish I could even imagine a society that truly valued its children because then I think I would see neighborhoods built in a courtyard fashion with central green space for children to play while being monitored by many eyes. I would see family friendly policy promoted by my government that would ensure every child access to health care, quality education, and higher education without debt. The workplace would support mothers by providing financial assistance for leave to care for an infant while keeping her job secure. They would support fathers by offering paid leave as well. Our entire society would be built on the goal of raising happy and secure human beings instead of it's current goal- to make a lot of money.

Instead I'm expected to be a martyr. A nurturing saint who fills her basket with kisses and cuddles. A glorified nun who suppresses all of her needs for the sake of her children and then says that the emotional rewards far outweigh the costs. Well I'm no martyr. I want to teach my children that all members of the family have needs and that it's the family's job to support each and every member, Mama included. I don't want to put aside my desires to contribute to the financial pot and feel some measure of financial independence should something happen to my partner. I want to be recognized outside my home for the many talents I have that are unrelated to child raising and homemaking. Why not? The home in America is often socially isolating, lonely and repressive. The advent of technology and convenience goods have taken much of the challenge out of the art of making a home. I don't have to spend hours chopping wood to boil water to scrub the clothes by hand and hang them on a line while bouncing the baby on my hip and praying that the toddler hasn't run off to the river and been swept downstream. Boy, am I thankful, and how. But there is something missing in this recipe. I am proud of the work I do and the care I provide my family. I love them and my work is a simple and direct expression of that love. I believe strongly in the idea that women can have it all, but probably not at the same time. But this will be a short chapter in my life and when the page turns I want there to be someone left who can write the story.