I have just about recovered from my latest bout of mastitis (which I now almost view as my private rite of passage into mothering each new child–no, I am being facetious of course. I believe, actually, that all illnesses are messages from the body to the psyche/soul, or messages from the spirit to the body or…oh dear. Illness is someone getting a stern talking-to, and mastitis is a very particular message–more later, I promise!).
So, realizing provisions were perilously low, and that everyone was about ready to mutiny, and the library books were quite late, etc., we decided to venture out. We, as in myself and the three littles.
Although this was certainly still the case prior to Felix’s birth, now, more than ever, people look at me with undisguised pity as I make my way through the world. Older women smile, pat me on the arm and say, as one woman did today, You will survive, dear. And older men (who clearly didn’t bear the brunt of the more humiliating of childrearing duties) tell me to Enjoy it! My kids are in their thirties. This’ll be gone in a flash.
Younger childless women just look at me in horror. I will never EVER become like that poor woman, they must be thinking.
I went for a lovely walk in the woods last night with a good friend, abandoning Lee and the two older kids at the dinner table, deaf to their protests, stuck Felix in the carrier and headed out, still wearing my red apron, a funny hat on my head, and bizarre voluminous orange pants stuffed into massive rubber farm boots. As I wrangled our three dogs on their leashes past our neighbours’ homes, I saw, what I thought was our littlest dog defecating on our neighbours’ lawn, and I immediately sprang into action, shouting and gesticulating wildly, until I realized that Dogma (yes, her name), was actually on the leash. K. and I collapsed into laughter, over my madness, and then K. asked me if I ever look at myself with all these dogs and children and cats and chickens, and wonder what the hell am I doing here? Well, in a word, yes. Yes I do.
The funny thing is, I don’t really miss the other stuff. I only experienced a few ersatz Warhol minutes worth of glamour and fabulousness, but truly, it wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I know many would hear that as pretence, dissembling, and that’s ok. I’m fine with all of it.
It is absolutely true, isn’t it, that no one else will ever be satisfied by our parenting choices. When I am out in the world, half the people we encounter immediately judge me as an overly permissive parent, and the other half immediately judge me as an ogre–and often they are partly right, depending on the circumstances. Occasionally, I am met with approval by others, and that’s very nice, but I’m over caring too much about it. Today, at the big grocery store where we were stocking up on things like toilet paper, I ran into an acquaintance–no, a friend!–who stopped me in the aisle and first told me how much she loved my pottery (which, let me tell you, was like a hit of something illicit for my ego), and then said And your children, Yolande, they have such spirit. They really do have such a wonderful light in their eyes, like they know who they are, and they are so free, and so comfortable with themselves.
Well. At that very moment, Horus let go of my hand, grinned, said Bye Mum! And sprinted off into the distance. Simultaneously, Treva decided to stand up on the top level of the grocery cart, a trick which always has the immediate effect of drawing to us all the ladies who [they tell themselves] really really do have the well-being and best interest of other people’s tragically endangered and clearly poorly parented children at heart. Instead of raised eyebrows, or worse, this lovely friend gave me a beaming smile and said, See!? They’re going to be amazing adults. And you are a wonderful mother.
It was so nice.
In all, we had a pretty good day.
I loved seeing all of you “out in the world” today! From afar i was admiring this woman wearing her infant, pushing her toddler while her eldest walked beside her, i thought to myself, now that’s the kind of woman i want to be as i pulled my one babe in the bike trailer. And then to my delight i recognized you and your beautiful babes and was proud that i knew you.
Your children are bright and beautiful and will be amazing adults, just like their mama. Be encouraged, you are a wonderful mother.
xoxox
Oh Shanie–it was SO great to run into you and beautiful Qaliyanna today. I was *just* telling Lee how absolutely radiant you look, and how intensely sweet and gorgeous Qaliyanna is–both of you the picture of happiness. Thank you so much for your kind words–we DID have a good day, and sweeter for seeing you two.
And now I’m laughing all over again! The glamour really isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, and we’re not just telling ourselves that. This is the real creamy part of life and we are exactly where we are supposed to be 🙂 xo
You’re so right, Katie. Creamy. But I just realized that I may not have been clear enough in my retelling of the Dogma story: Might people think, upon reading this post, that I had only imagined a creature defecating on the neighbour’s lawn? No. It was in fact their own dog defecating on their lawn–so I’m not quite crazy like that. But then another level of hilariousness hit me–I was actually standing there screaming “Dogma! Dogma! Dogma!!!!”. Good gracious.
Hi Yo,
Ive wonderfully stumbled onto your website after finding your birth vids on youtube (my friend is due tomorrow and having an unassisted birth and needed a little emotional youtube support!). Its wonderful reading what you have to say…it feels very close to home for me as i am now 24, the eldest by far of 4, born to a mother who homebirths, cosleeps, un schools, un medicates, has never immunised any of us, and generally has had to battle family, friends and society for her beleifs on what is normal, sensible and healthy. I have grown up beleiveing that how i have been bought up is ‘normal’ and it is to me, but am confronted more and more as i get older and more aware of the outside world, that society at large really doesnt do it the way my ma does!
But anyway….you’ve gained a new young avid reader…and you’ll probs see my dear ma on her soon too 😉 Shes called Sally and she wicked.
Good on you powerful spirit for all that you aim for and all that you do for yourself and your family and world.
Wonderful.
Bex
xx
p.s- i hear you talk of 5 births, are your other 2 children grown up? much love xx
Bex, thank you so much for writing! Your mum sounds incredible. I am really close with my amazing, strong and beautiful mother, and I feel like I am continuing the work the she did–pushing things a little further. I am the oldest in my family, and unfortunately my mother had a terrible birth experience with me. I profoundly believe that babies are totally affected by their first experiences of the world…and maybe my own birth has something to do with my raging against the machine, and my determination to be vocal about my ideas and ideals…I do have two older sons, they are 12 and 10. They are wonderful, brilliant, and lovely, but they live on the other side of the country with their dad (with whom I have a very negative history), and we don’t have very much contact: long painful story, and a bit too much to get into here. But in a strange way, my experience with my two older kids has really helped me to appreciate every single moment with Horus, Tree and Felix. It is something of a consolation to know that my two eldest did have gorgeous, perfect births–strong foundation. I checked out your etsy shop, and I’m in love with the green velvet jacket. (And all your pieces!). I’m going to get on to selling some of this pottery of ours, and then we shall see…:)