Someone said...
Someone said to me...
"There are two kinds of people in the world. People with kids, and people who don't know that there are two kinds of people in the world..."
I want to believe this isn't so. But it is so.
I know that the cult of diapers can be hard to take. That for non-parents, the world of babies and baby-chatter and strollers and screaming in coffee shops... all of that... is horrible, or boring, or frustrating. I remember that feeling. That boredom. That frustration.
But its equally hard to be the parent. It makes me feel invisible. In so many places I am only a reason for a deep sigh, a tired groan. Waitresses hate me. People waiting for my parking space hate me. Cab drivers hate me. Nobody opens the damn door. Not even when I'm dropping a living person on the ground, scrounging for my groceries. And I've been up since 5 am and I only got 2 hours of sleep. So forgive me if sometimes I wish someone would get the door.
It's a disability. Kind of.
A baby makes me vulnerable, cumbersome, slow. Only a host-creature. I found that out when the crackhead held the knife to my giant stomach instead of my throat.
I know. I know. I chose this disabilty. But still...
I'm still here, me, a person... underneath all the other people.
I listen to you talk loudly on your cell phone. I deal with the dog you tied up outside the coffee shop. I smell your smoke. I peer over your tall hair at the movies.
We all have to carry sometehing around. We all make choices. We are all obstacles to each others choices...
I'm doing the best I can.
Maybe you don't have kids. Maybe that wasn't your choice. But once... long ago... you were someone's baby. Have a heart.
"There are two kinds of people in the world. People with kids, and people who don't know that there are two kinds of people in the world..."
I want to believe this isn't so. But it is so.
I know that the cult of diapers can be hard to take. That for non-parents, the world of babies and baby-chatter and strollers and screaming in coffee shops... all of that... is horrible, or boring, or frustrating. I remember that feeling. That boredom. That frustration.
But its equally hard to be the parent. It makes me feel invisible. In so many places I am only a reason for a deep sigh, a tired groan. Waitresses hate me. People waiting for my parking space hate me. Cab drivers hate me. Nobody opens the damn door. Not even when I'm dropping a living person on the ground, scrounging for my groceries. And I've been up since 5 am and I only got 2 hours of sleep. So forgive me if sometimes I wish someone would get the door.
It's a disability. Kind of.
A baby makes me vulnerable, cumbersome, slow. Only a host-creature. I found that out when the crackhead held the knife to my giant stomach instead of my throat.
I know. I know. I chose this disabilty. But still...
I'm still here, me, a person... underneath all the other people.
I listen to you talk loudly on your cell phone. I deal with the dog you tied up outside the coffee shop. I smell your smoke. I peer over your tall hair at the movies.
We all have to carry sometehing around. We all make choices. We are all obstacles to each others choices...
I'm doing the best I can.
Maybe you don't have kids. Maybe that wasn't your choice. But once... long ago... you were someone's baby. Have a heart.
8 Comments:
(((Laurel)))
Hi Laurel,
First of all: HUGS!
As a seasoned mom of three boys, ages 15, almost 5 and almost 3, I can tell you three things.
1. Motherhood makes you more tolerant, less selfish and more understanding. Dare I say, more patient?
2. Although it is hellish right now, it will get easier. Promise.
3. You have to enjoy (I know, but try) the moments (even the horribly embarrassing ones) because soon your hallway will be filled with all sorts of big, stinky shoes and you'll wonder when you stopped kissing those baby toes.
Aw, sugar bean. I'm sorry I can't be there to spell you.
I remember. But I can remember with sweetness now what was so stressful then. And though it's little comfort when you are bone-weary and guilty and feeling like you're watching a movie of your life, more than living it, you'll remember it sweetly someday, too.
Every age and stage has it's own sweetness, and it's own challenges.
Colorado Writer is too right. I'm daily confronted with the reality that my children are each others best friends and rely very little on me. I've got freedom aplenty and I'm proud of their independence... but I'm missing baby toes for all that, envious of your milky stupor and sticky toddler kisses. :-)
Your are doing just fine, you really are. If you want, you can make plenty of playdates for Mose so you can have "unguilty" Lewis time. It's a win-win-win.
Friends want to help, they really do, but you usually have to ask. (I have a hard time taking my own advice here.)
sorry people are being poops...
sometimes i'm that person, i think, i bet. sometimes i am angry at the ones with kids for not being compact and discrete, for being quite the opposite of invisible. for being (it feels like) nothing like me.
other times, i'm the one with the kids--always someone else's, of course--my boyfriend's, my brother's, and then there is nothing but the chase (me after them) and everyone else becomes invisible.
all that aside, you still get the damn door for the person who looks like they need it, childed or not.
love-maria
Yes, I have found the same thing as your first thought, and thought the same as your last. But then, I've found that I have stratified friends at this point: those who get it (and they may not necessarily have children) and those who don't. The homeless and children seem to really wig the latter out. Yes, they're scary, but they're still a piece of the humanity pie, so learn to cope.
But then I don't entirely understand the adult version of things in which we are so hidden about how we feel, or so quiet all the time (I'm obviously a loud person, can you tell?). Parenthood may be giving me more of an opportunity to be myself than anything else these days.
(I don't comment much, but I am reading, and thank you.)
I love this post. I really want to have a baby---so, I liked the honesty of your writing.
I do HATE it when people bring infants to movies. That just sucks!
Sandra, it only sucks if the parent does immediately jump up and leave if the baby starts to coo or cry, which any considerate person would do. I wanted to burst out crying everytime someone assumed I wouldn't do the right thing, and rolled their eyes at me and sighed loudly whenever I came in with my bundle and my M&M's.
Mostly, my babies just nursed and slept while I got a few brief hours to myself to go out in public and be (somewhat) clean and human and feel like a normal person. Of course, most movies are too loud to bring babies to these days.
But the assumtion that our babies being in public with us will "suck" for everyone else is what makes motherhood a hard gig, moreso than the actual experience sometimes.
I just had a really bad solo-parenting day, but this post and the previous one made me feel like a little less of a substandard human and mother. Thanks, as usual, Laurel, for saying the right thing.
Motherhood is bizarre.
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