There are a lot of people living in our house in Minneapolis while we are here in Brazil. One of my friends moved in a few months before we left, willing to sort of camp out on the family floor until we had airlifted off and she could have peace and quiet upstairs. One night, it must have been around 3a.m., Luca woke up crying. I staggered out of bed, groping for my glasses and then shuffled down the hallway to Luca's room. En route - and no, the hallway isn't that long, it just felt like it that night - I passed my friend, Coya, with her door open, looking out to see if someone was coming to get the crying Luca. I mumbled something, "I got her, " or "hi" or "jabberwocky" and flopped into Luca's room, cuddled her, she went back to sleep and I stumbled back to my bed.
Now Coya has been my friend for something like eight years, five of them Luca-less. During those childless times, we used to go to a lot of the same parties, the same performances, the same community things. Post-Luca, I don't get out as much. At least not after 8pm. This means that these days I mostly see Coya when we get together for lunch.
A few days after the nighttime stumble, I ran into Coya during the daylight hours. "You know what's strange," said Coya, "In some wierd way, some part of me hadn't really realized you were a mother until I saw you getting out of bed, all sleepy and confused, to go to Luca in the middle of the night. It feels dumb to say, but watching you I suddenly had this - oh my god, Susan's a mother - kind of feeling."
It's true. There is something largely invisible about the other half of parenting - that half that makes you a dirt under your fingernails parent. Unsurprisingly, it's the part that often defines your days. Sleepless nights to not cheerful daytime company make. This morning, there were emails in my inbox from multiple friends in the States, all who spent sleepless nights last night listening to coughing, cleaning up puke, and generally forgoing a night of sleep.
When Luca woke up last night at 2am, came into bed for a cuddle and then promptly blew her cookies all over me and our bed, then there was no doubt that it's mama time. I have quite a few friends - childless friends from my world before Luca was born - who have told me that they are hurt because we don't see each other as much as we used to, they feel like they have to have kids in order to hang out with me, etc. Many of these are friends who invite me to their parties that start at 10pm or who call at 6:00 (kid dinner time) while we are eating at the table to see if I have dinner plans for the evening.
I guess I need to invite more of them to sleep over. Then maybe they'll get that - at least until the kid is older - things are just plain different. I'm a mama. It took me spending six months in Brazil to fully make peace with that sentence.
5 comments:
Congratulations. Does it feel like surrendering? I had to come to grips with this because we just plain lost contact with our friends who were single - Unless they made an effort to work around our kids.
It wasn't like I took a "position" on this situation or phenomena - I was just too fucking tired and living in the microcosm of parenting.
I am forwarding your episode to Suzanne, who is on the antipasta (haha) end of this very issue.
Life is just different. I know, I know - there are people who say that their lives aren't any different since they had children but they lie. I led a pretty low-key, peaceful life before children and MY life has changed. I'd add more to this but I have to go home now, home to my two children who are barking like seals these days.
I am one of those party-on-a-school-night types, who never eats dinner before eight and will get up in the morning and on a whim drive to West Virginia, and I, too, have problems understanding why my friends with kids can't do the same. I have very few straight childless friends my own age, which is one reason why I date 20-somethings.
This is the part where you're supposed to tell me that being puked on at 2 a.m. is BETTER than eating in nice restaurants late in the evening. Lest Emptyman genes be forever removed from the pool.
It's not. And it is. And it's not. And it is. And oh shit, my kid is calling me or else I'd explain it better...
Ha. I can't explain it more succintly. It's not and it is. But please, don't hold your genes back, my darling. Somewhere there is an egg just dying to diploid with ya. And if that doesn't make you all hot and bothered, I don't know what will.
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