The Myth of the Supermom
Thursday, April 30th, 2009
About a year ago, I was pushing my daughter on the swings at a playground when the father next to me struck up a conversation.
We started talking about the movie CARS, with me saying that it was my least favorite movie ever made and him saying it was his favorite movie ever made—rated G, PG, R or triple X. (Okay, I added the triple X part. It’s my way of getting back at him, I suppose).
We chatted about the usual things most parents who don’t know each other chat about: Does your child do this? So does mine! Does your child do that? So does mine!
I was just starting to get over the fact that he liked CARS when he said, “We’re so fortunate that my wife can stay home with our son. I have friends who have had their kids in daycare since they were babies. Daycare kids are little monsters, don’t you think? I’m always comparing my son to theirs and I’m so glad that we didn’t have to do that. I’m so glad I earn enough money so my wife can stay home.”
I think I muttered something like, “That’s nice.” Soon after, I suggested to my daughter that it was time to leave.
My daughter has been in daycare since she was 4 months old.
I am the family breadwinner. I have to work.
But even if I were independently wealthy, I would still work. Work, for me, is both a financial and emotional necessity.
I always thought I would want to stay home with a child. Then I had one, and I realized I was not cut out for stay-at-home motherhood.
I spent a long time feeling guilty about that, of course. After all, I’m a woman who has succeeded at pretty much everything she’s tried to do. If I could succeed in business, I could succeed at motherhood, too. Right? It wasn’t, however, until I had a baby that I realized:
- I can’t stand noise. I just can’t stand it. And kids make a ton of noise.
- I can’t stand little beings clinging to me, like human leeches sucking my life force. I didn’t know this about myself until I became a mother. I seriously didn’t.
- I don’t think babies are cute. I think they are boring. What are you supposed to do with a baby? Is holding a toy above a baby’s eyes while you make little goo-goo ga-ga sounds supposed to be fun? It’s not for me.
- I hate playing Hide and Seek, Chutes and Ladders, and tea party. Freeze Dance? I don’t mind that one so much. That’s kind of fun.
- I don’t like to sing anything, but I especially don’t like to sing along to Barney or the Wiggles.
- I hate reading Berenstain Bear books. My daughter loves them and they teach good lessons, but the sentences are really long and hard to read out loud.
I could go on and on. The point is that 8 or more hours straight of crying, whining, clinging, goo-goo-ing, Barney listening, and bear book reading would turn me into someone my husband no longer wants to call his wife. Seriously.
It would be ugly.
I have to work. I need the break from parenting. It’s my respite.
I have no idea why that father on the playground assumed I was a stay-at-home mom that day. Perhaps it was the fact that my daughter is one of the most well behaved kids in the universe. That probably threw him off. She’s not a little monster. No, not at all.
Or maybe I seemed like a good mother in that moment as I pushed her on the swings. After all, pushing my daughter on the swings is one of the things I actually like about motherhood. It’s kind of relaxing, assuming I’m not standing next to another parent who is hell bent on making me feel bad about myself.
As my daughter and I walked home from the playground that evening, I had all sorts of revenge fantasies in my mind for that father, too. Eventually, however, I allowed myself to forgive him for his stupidity. I did because I realized his comment was just his way of making himself feel better about his own inadequacies. In the end, most of us—working parents or stay-at-home parents—feel like bad parents, for one reason or 6 million. Few of us, deep down, feel like super parents. Most of us, deep down, feel like super failures.
For instance, I don’t only feel like a bad mom for lacking the skills and wherewithal needed to stay home, I also feel like a bad mom for:
- Letting my daughter watch way too much TV. My 4 year old can recite nearly any television commercial verbatim. For instance, she often says, “Mommy, can we go to Chuck E. Cheese? You would like it. Moms relax while kids play. It’s where a kid can be a kid.”
- Letting my daughter eat grilled cheese for breakfast.
- Saying, “In a minute” 6 hundred billion times a day.
- Saying, “No,” 6 hundred billion and one times a day.
- All of the times I’ve lost my temper.
All of that said, I don’t regret my decision to become a mother (most of the time). I love my daughter’s smile. I love her brown eyes. I love all of the cute things she says. I love her hugs and her kisses. I love watching her grow and learn and change. I love snuggling with her on the couch. I love listening to her sing. I love watching her draw pictures. I love hearing her play with her stuffed animals. I love watching her tuck her stuffed doggie into his dog bed at night.
There are moments in parenting that are priceless, that I wish I could hold on to and have last forever.
And there are moments when I feel guilty, inadequate, and broken.
Before I had a child, I thought I could do the impossible. I thought I could be the super mom. I thought I could do everything by the book. I would play Mozart for my baby. I would use cloth diapers. I would sing songs to my baby, and she would never suck her thumb.
Then I had a child and I realized that I had no super powers. I was just a very normal woman who was trying to do a very hard thing, which was raising a child without completely screwing her up in the process.
Now that she’s going on 5, she says please and thank you, shares (most of the time), can read and write, and is delightful (except when she’s not). So far there are no signs that I’ve completely screwed her up. I might not be a super mom, but I think I’m doing okay.
How about you?
