It's not about having an easy child or being an easy mother: it's about breathing
I’m on my way to meet with a friend. I’m thrilled. I realize that it’s been almost three years since I’ve gone out with friends.
Ok, the pandemic. Ok, every day chores and tasks. But no. There’s more. There is something interesting connected to my choices, the choices that I made as a parent. I don’t even know if I should say “we made” as my partner definitely encouraged me to relent the so close care and watch I’ve been practicing in the raising of our daughter. Anyway, her needs have come first during these three years. I have not been (yet?) the backpack mother, posting smiling pictures on FB from our last vacation in the mountains.
No, I did not buy all those gadgets to go climbing, skiing, hiking, cycling, swimming with my newborn.
I chose to respect (if that is the word) her napping time, her early lunch schedule, her early bedtime. I often left my showers or waxing behind. Then I went back to work. Then I took care of more issues. No, I did not go on carefree holidays thinking that the time with my newborn was sacred. I actually most often have thought that that time was exhausting.
And so poking back to social life, even for a short coffee time, feels thrilling and nourishing. On my way, a sentence pops up in my head, as I foretaste the pleasure of complaining:
She’s not an easy child.
I foresee the satisfaction of let it all out. But because my friend is such a remarkable listener, she often offers me silence and time as an answer. So that I often naturally follow up with further reflection.
I see: the sentence that my mind generated is hinted with justification and guilt. As I said, what I like best about my friend is her silence. She gives me space and time to connect the dots.
And so, if she’s not an easy child, am I an easy mother?
No.
I’m tired. I’m troubled. I’m trying to control too many things: job, housekeeping, sexuality, my mother’s transplant.
I’m angry. Angry at anyone showing off with their easygoing motherhood and lifestyle.
So it’s not about being easy, neither me nor her. It’s about breathing.