This morning I set out to wash the breakfast dishes and clean out the fridge and found, three hours later, that I had baked a quiche (to use up the wilted vegetables), a loaf of banana bread (to use up the overripe bananas), and a batch of granola bars (to use up the ageing bags of nuts and dried fruit). I suppose this means I am, with less than two weeks to go until my due date, entering the nesting phase of pregnancy.
After nearly eight months of feeling too tired to tend to more than the bare necessities (and often relying heavily on others for those as well), it’s nice to have a burst of energy at last. This pregnancy, like my first, has been medically uncomplicated but emotionally taxing, and I’m relieved to be entering the home stretch.
Since writing about At the Breast two weeks ago I’ve been mulling over the question I posed: Having become aware of all the ways in which contemporary American mothers are controlled, manipulated, and blamed, how does one move forward constructively, instead of succumbing to blind rage? The best answer I can come up with is one that closely parallels Blum’s strategy throughout her book: focusing tightly on mothers and our experiences, on our agency and our transformations. I’ve long said that if men did more childrearing, we’d all be full of praise for the intellectual and executive insights and skills that parenting fosters, rather than seeing it as unskilled drudgery. So I’m focusing here on the concrete ways in which motherhood has made me more competent and powerful.
Time management. Before I had a child, I could easily spend forty-five minutes easing into a task. Now, forty-five minutes is enough time to write several pages, wash a sink full of dishes, run a load of laundry, and prepare a healthy snack. I can—and regularly do—accomplish more work in four hours than I used to in eight. Parenting surely isn’t the only way to become more efficient, but it is a powerful motivator.
Compassion. I feel more connected to the world than ever before—at the level of global news and interpersonal interactions—and am more able to keep in mind the struggles and obstacles in the lives of those around me. I don’t expect my child to behave well unless he has eaten well, slept well, and is in an environment well suited to his developmental needs—and I’m learning to apply this lesson to myself and to the adults around me, too.
Authority. I used to be uncomfortable with the idea of possessing authority over others. Then I created a human, drove him home to my apartment, set his car seat on the floor, and realized I was wholly responsible for keeping him alive. I learned how to keep him from eating glass and running into traffic. In comparison, giving instructions to an employee doesn’t particularly faze me.
Insight. Seeing the early stages of consciousness formation has radically changed my view of human nature. I’m keenly aware of our mutual interdependence and deep needs for validation and connection, and this awareness changes how I approach conversations and interactions of all kinds.
Physical toughness. The day after I gave birth to my son, a nurse came into my hospital room with painkillers and asked me to rate my pain on a scale of one to ten. I replied, “maybe a two?” She was taken aback and then said, “oh, right, you didn’t have an epidural.” Indeed, as I was to find later, my threshold for pain had been altered, perhaps permanently. Later that year, I ran a 5K in solidarity with my husband, who was excited to hit the road again after recovering from surgery. Though I disliked running (and still do), I found the physical discomforts that training entailed—the blisters, the stitches in my side, the sore legs—eminently manageable. I knew what it felt like to come to the edge of my physical limitations—and that exercise, however intense, didn’t come close.
Influence. My son will grow up as a white, wealthy American man of great privilege, and right now he never stops watching me. He scrutinizes my gestures, copies my words and intonation, and imitates my actions. I know, too, that from my husband and me he is learning how to show his love, how to cope with his anger, and how to treat those around him. I am, for now, his most powerful model of womanhood—and I will be damned if I show him something small, and guilty, and sad.