I am having some difficulty believing this writer or being persuaded by her claims. Her examples of "fanatical mothers" seem like parodies of real people and her tone, which I found "dripping with condescension," undermines any valid critique she might be trying to make about parenting. I think she wants her essay to serve as a mirror to mothers everywhere, but frankly I don't recognize anyone in her stereotypes. Most of the mothers I know "pursue their passions" as well as work outside the home (sometimes these are not the same thing). I'm sorry she's had bad experiences, but maybe she's getting pressure not from strangers but people close to her. It's often easier to lay blame on strangers, fictionalized or real, than to stand up to relatives or close friends, or to face our own ambivalence. She has some valid concerns and critiques here--there are annoying parents and ill-behaved kids--but overall I think she has to face her own anger before she can expect the rest of us to follow her rules of mothering.
Stop Setting Alarms on My Biological Clock
If I'm ever going to fulfill my dream of becoming a mother, I'm going to need some better role models.
Email To A Friend
Please fill in the following information and we'll email this link.
I am at a party chatting with a woman I know slightly. As her young son squirms out of her embrace, she slips her hand under my shirt. She's not getting fresh with me. She's touching my tummy with her cold hand and asking me, in a concerned voice, "Why aren't you pregnant yet?" I smile, break free from her touch, and head to the food table to fill said empty belly with her brat's birthday cake.
I love children and definitely plan on having them. Maternal instinct is oozing out of my pores: I've infantilized my dogs; I've gotten down on my hands and knees at the park with babies I barely know. My marriage is wonderful and solid, and we are both blessed with good health. I've been a nanny, a teacher, a youth-group leader. I've taken childhood-development courses solely for the purpose of someday raising happy, balanced children. I have always looked forward to becoming a mother.
So why don't I have kids or even the inkling right now? It's because of you. Yes, you: the fanatical mothers of the world. It may seem like ages ago now, but you weren't always like this. You, too, were sneering at the obnoxious parents who brought their infants to fancy, adult, nighttime restaurants or R-rated movies and let them carry on, ruining things for other patrons. You've been terrible advertising for the club that you so desperately need others to join.
If you want me to join your ranks—and you've made it clear with your cold, clammy hands on my stomach that recruiting my uterus is of paramount importance to you—I need to set some ground rules.
First, please stop asking me when I'm going to get pregnant.
For all you know, I cannot have kids. For all I know, I cannot have kids, as I have not yet tried. But imagine how painful this line of interrogation would be if I had submitted to all kinds of procedures, only to come up empty-wombed. It would be emotionally devastating. Yet ever since the day after my wedding two years ago, I have fielded this question from the eye doctor, the dental assistant, my yoga teacher, the bagger at the grocery store. All of them feel entitled to ask. Don't. It's none of your business.
- 1
- 2
- 3
- Next Page »
Discuss