A stay-at-home-mom blogging about the rhapsodical misadventures of the parenting kind. No filters. No untruths. Just the realness of it all.
Vedavati M., a.k.a. The Cultural Misfit, is a stay-at-home-mom who revels in her various avatars (chef, mentor, friend, playmate, arts and crafts buddy, puppeteer, milk machine, comforter, and more) for her toddler. Her secondary pursuits include writing and exploring new experiences. Somewhere in the mix, she remembers to be a wife. You can follow her travails at http://www.theculturalmisfit.com
I love the child it bore. I am fascinated by everything it did for my baby when she was within and when she came out. I am still amazed by how much weight my knees bore in the last trimester and how heavy a load my arms can bear now. I am in awe of this body. But I don't love being in it.
During my pregnancy and right after birth there were a lot of "warnings" about the havoc my little monster would create. How I wouldn't be able to function without sleep. How I would have to recalibrate. How I'd need to discipline. Heaps upon loads of advice on how to keep the baby from inconveniencing my routine, at any cost.
I've experienced different kinds of neediness in my life: My professional contacts have reminded me since you were 6 months old how badly I'm wanted back at work. Your father has patiently waited for me to become a friend and a wife to him again. Your grandparents have always missed spending time with their only child. But nothing like this.
We were co-parents living under the same roof. The hand-holding, affectionate, gregarious couple was a distant memory. Conversations were few and far between. When we talked, it was only about the baby. By the time she was a year old, we had stopped talking to each other directly.
It's daunting to be responsible for another life. But it's also selfish... to pass on one's DNA. To have someone who looks up to you. To feel the pride and joy that comes with the pain and tears. Some say that parenthood is the most selfless of "loves" one experiences in one's life. In our case, it wasn't selflessness that drove us to the decision. We chose parenthood because we wanted something out of it.
My two-year-old is a far better teacher than I could ever be for her. She's reminding me of things that I unlearned at some point in my complex adult life... lessons that are making me a better mom, a better wife, a better friend.
I realize now that you're not coming from a place of goodness. You don't like that I'm not complaining, that I'm not struggling, that I'm not suffering. You can't stand the fact that I am actually enjoying my role as a full-time mom.